CIHM 
Microfiche 
Series 
(l\Aonog  raphe) 


ICI\AH 

Collection  de 
microfiches 
(monographies) 


[g] 


Canadian  Inatituta  for  Historical  MIcroraproduetiona  /  Inatitut  Canadian  do  microraproduetlana  historlquaa 


1995 


Ttchnical  and  BiMietnphie  Nom  /  Nom  tadmiquM  tt  MblioinpliiquM 


Tht  IniKtutt  hM  ammpttd  to  obtain  iha  bait  erifinal 
copy  airailaMa  for  f  ilmint.  Faatum  of  ihh  copy  which 
may  ba  MMio(raiiMcally  imtqua.  which  may  ahcr  any 
of  Iha  imagn  in  tha  raproduction,  or  which  may 
•ignificantly  chanfa  tha  usual  madiod  of  filminf.  arc 
chachad  balow. 


0Colourad  coaan/ 
Coumrtura  da  coulaur 

□  Conn  damagad/ 
< 


□  Conn  ra<to«ad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Counartwa  raitawia  at/ou  pallicuMa 

Co«ar  titia  minint/ 


I       I  Colourad  mapl/ 


Cartn  gioaraphiquai  an  coulaur 

Q  Colourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  blua  or  Mack)/ 
Enera  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  Maua  ou  notra) 

0  Colourad  platas  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planchas  at/ou  illustrations  an  coulaur 

□  Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
Ralia  avac  d'autras  documents 

□  Tijht  bindint  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  intarior  margin/ 

La  raliura  sarria  paut  eausar  da  I'offlbra  ou  da  la 
distonion  la  long  da  la  marga  intiriaura 

□  Blank  laavas  addad  during  restoration  may  appear 
within  tha  taxt  Whananr  possiMa,  thasa  haia 
baan  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  eartainas  pages  blanches  ajoutias 
tors  d'une  restauretion  apparaissant  dans  la  texte. 
mait.  lorsqua  cela  ttait  pottiMe.  ces  peges  n'ont 
pes  M  filmies. 


□  Additional  comments;/ 
Commentairas  supplamentaires: 

This  item  is  filmed  el  the  reduction  retio  cheeked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  f  ilmi  eu  taux  da  rUuction  indiqu«  ciKlestous. 

^OX  UX  lav 


n 


16X 


7 


wges  endoflimagias 


L'Inttitut  e  microfilmi  le  meilleur  exenpleire  qu'il 
lui  e  M  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  dttaih  de  cat 
axempleire  qui  sont  peut-*tre  uniques  du  point  da  eua 

qua,  qui  paumnt  modifier  une  image 

i.  ou  qui  peueent  exiger  une  modification 
dam  la  mtthoda  normala  da  f  ihnaga  sont  indiqu«s 
ci-dastous. 

□  Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

D 

□  Pages  restored  and/or  laminatad/ 
Pages  rettauries  et/eu  pellieulies 

0  Pages  discokwred.  sained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dicolories.  tacheties  ou  piquies 

□  Ptjes  detached/ 
Pages  dtochtes 

0Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

□  Ouelity  of  print  varies/ 
Oueliti  inigala  de  I'impression 

□  Continuous  peginetion/ 
Pagination  continue 


□  Includes  indcx(esl/ 
I 


I  Comprend  un  (dni  index 

Title  on  heedar  taken  from:  / 
Le  titre  de  I'en-ttte  provient: 

Title  pege  of  issue/ 

Page  de  titre  de  la  linaisan 


n 


I       I  Caption  of  issue/ 


Titre  de  dipert  de  le  lieraison 

Masthaed/ 

Ginarique  (piriodiquas)  da  la  liereison 


I       I  IMastheed/ 


22X 


»x 


32X 


Th«  copy  filmad  har*  Hh  baan  raproduead  thanki 
to  tha  ganarositv  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  fllm4  fut  raproduil  grtea  i  la 
g<n«roiil4  da: 

Blbllotheque  natlonale  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bait  quality 
pouibia  eoniidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  Icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  apacif icationa. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covara  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  illuatratad  impraa- 
sion.  or  tha  bacli  covar  whan  appreprlata.  All 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
flrit  paga  with  a  printad  or  Illuatratad  Impraa- 
aion,  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microficha 
shall  contain  tha  aymbol  — ^  (moaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  lymbol  V  (moaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appliaa. 

Mapa,  plataa,  charts,  ate.  may  ba  filmad  at 
diffarant  raduction  ratios.  Thosa  too  larga  to  bo 
antiraly  includad  in  ona  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  cornar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bonom,  as  many  framas  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  following  diagrama  lllustrata  tha 
mathod: 


Las  imagas  sulvantas  ont  M  raproduitas  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  raxamplaira  film*,  at  an 
conformit*  avac  laa  conditions  du  eontrst  da 
fllmaga. 

Laa  aaamplalraa  origlnaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  ast  ImprimOa  sent  filmOs  an  eommancant 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarmlnant  soit  par  la 
darnlAra  paga  qui  compona  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'llluatraiion.  soit  par  la  tacond 
plat,  salon  la  caa.  Tous  laa  autras  axamplairas 
orlginaux  sont  fllmOs  an  commencant  par  la 
pramitra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
d'Impraaaion  ou  d'llluatration  at  an  tarminant  par 
la  darnlAra  paga  qui  comporta  una  talla 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symbolaa  suivants  apparaitra  aur  la 
darnitra  imaga  da  chaqua  microficha.  salon  la 
caa:  la  symbols  ^»  signifia  "A  SUIVRE".  la 
aymbolo  V  signifio  "FIN". 

Laa  cartaa.  planchas.  tiblaaux.  ate.  pauvant  itra 
filmts  t  dss  taux  da  rOduction  difftranis. 
Lorsqua  la  documant  ast  trop  grand  pour  Itra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  clicha.  il  ast  filmi  i  partir 
da  I'angla  supiriaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  i  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  bas.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d'imagaa  nOcaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mOthoda. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

•uoocorr  msoiuTioN  test  chart 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No,  2) 


t2a 

■  2^ 

\Si 

■  2.2 

^ 

■^ 

:s 

i^ 

III  1-8 

^H^^ 


_^  APPLIED  IIVHGE    In 

^g*-  '653  East  Moin  SIreet 

S-^  Ro-rhester.    New  Yo-k         14609       USA 

r.ag  (^'6)    *82  -  0300  -  Phone 

^^B  !"6)   28a  -  5989  -  Fo. 


SILENT  SAM 


SILENT  SAM 

AND  OTHER  STORIES  OF 
OUR  DAY 


HARVEY  J.  O'HIGGINS 

Don-m-Drewiui      Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO 

19U 


HSSS" 


Copyright,  1914,  by 
The  Cihtubt  Co. 

Copyright,  1909    by  the  PhllUp, 
Publishing  Co. 

1908  by  th«  S.  S.  MoOlure  Co! 
Copypighl,    1905,    by   tho   Ridt 

w«y-Th«yer  Company. 
Copyright,  1906,  1908,  1912    by 

The  aidgw.y  Coipan,;  ^ 

Copyright  1907,  1908,  1909,  by 

P.  F.  Collier  «  Son.  ' 

Copyright  1907,  by  The  Prank 

A.  Muneey  Company. 


TO 

JOHN  O'HARA  COSGRAVE 

WITH  THE 

ACKNOWUCDGIIENTS  OF  GBATITDDB 


CONTENTS 


I     SILENT  SAH 3 

Jl     HIS  MOTHER 29 

m     IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART 59 

IT     TAMMASY'S  TITHES 79 

V    THE  CLOWNS 97 

Yl    THE   DEVIL'S  DOINOS 129 

VII     THE  HIRED  MAN I49 

VIII     THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 167 

IX     THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 191 

X     THE    HOT-AIR    HARPS 209 

XI     THE   REPORTER 237 

XII     THE    MOTHER-IN-LAW 257 

XIII     IN  THE   MTTSEE 279 

XrV     THE   EXILES 3OI 

XV     DURINQ  THE  WAR 3I9 

XVI     IN    LOVERS  MEETINO 34I 

XVII     THE  TWO  MIOKETS 357 

XVIII     LAREIN 375 


SILENT  SAM 


THE  deputy  sheriff  who  brought  Sam  from  the 
county  jail  to  the  state  penitentiary  came  al- 
ways with  one  prisoner  at  a  time,  because  he  trav- 
eled on  a  railway  pass  and  charged  the  state  with 
mileage  and  expenses  for  each  trip.  He  would  have 
preferred  to  bring  several  prisoners  together  and  make 
fewer  trips,  but  this  would  have  reduced  his  profits. 
He  had  a  wife  and  two  daughters  to  provide  for;  and 
though  the  trips  were  a  weariness,  he  sacrificed  himself 
for  his  family. 

He  was  a  bald  and  genial  Welshman  of  the  name  of 
Johns,  unhealthy  looking,  flat  in  the  chest  and  flab- 
bily heavy-waisted,  as  if  the  weight  of  his  flesh  had 
settled  down  toward  the  seat  of  the  oflSce-chair  in  which 
he  spent  so  much  of  his  time.  He  had  a  native  genius 
for  gossip  —  interesting  human  gossip,  particularly  of 
little  political  scandals  and  partisan  intrigues.  It  was 
one  of  the  jokes  of  his  circle  that  he  had  been  "  bom 
to  wear  a  Mother  Hubbard  and  gabble  over  a  back-yard 
fence."  He  would  talk  to  a  prisoner  as  insistently  as 
to  a  judge,  with  all  the  democracy  of  garrulousness,  on 
the  Fame  terms  of  common  human  frailty,  in  a  loud 


*  SILENT  SAM 

cheerfulneM,  with  a  «^oal  humor,  protrudiM  hi. 

tongue  when  he  laughed.    He  wa,  g;.e^«irSrde; 

He  had  found  it  impossible  to  get  any  reply  from  his 

f„T  wi,  "J,"",  "-^  ***«''*•'"'•  Sam^-t'dCrsta" 
•ng  at  the  red  plush  of  the  seat  before  him,  wik  hU 
black  eyebrows  raised  and  his  forehead  wriiJi     i 

irtr  ht:--^  ^^^  ^"*'  -^- "^-  £ 

tralp!"*^'^"*^  ''«='<^«'^'  fi«t'  *tat  Sam  was  «a  sulky 

As  a  tramp  he  was  typical  -  coUarW  in  a  dirtv 

epotted  with  0,    stains,  his  shoes  looking  !b  if  they 

fnrS^A        .'"'*^-     ^dy«thi«fece,  in  a  paint- 
ing, would  have  drawn  the  eyes  of  an  art  gallery     It 

S^tetsS-''     '''''"°*'"'^"*°^-    H«-ldblue 
eyes  were  set  m  a  vacancy  of  thought     The  Ufted  eve- 

T  f  ,^«/~-n  «^«ted  a  mTte  gropil  ^"^ 

.W  ??  ^'^/O'^'l  g»ilty  of  train-^king-of 
causing  the  deaths  of  thirty-two  passengers  onZ  «D 

1  Lif^r  r^i  ^  ''^^"«  »  "^'  "'^  the  bridge  across 
the  Lutle  Sandy  near  Golden  Gorge.  And  he  had  b^^ 
oentenced  to  imprisonment  for  life 

This  shocking  fact  did  not  affect  the  deputy  at  alL 
Professionally  he  had  no  more  interest  i/the  «ason 
for  the  man's  imprisonment  than  a  "  funeral  diii  " 


SILENT  SAM  5 

has  in  the  cause  of  death;  it  was  enough  for  him  that 
"  the  bodj  of  Samuel  Daneen  "  was  in  his  hands  for 
delivery  to  its  living  tomb.  He  had  had  sufiBcient  cyn- 
ical experience  of  the  courts  of  his  state  to  know  that 
innocence  was  sometimes  convicted  and  that  guilt  often 
went  free;  but  this  was  a  matter  that  was  not  on  his 
"  beat,"  as  he  would  say ;  he  could  not  help  the  innocent 
any  more  than  he  rould  impede  the  guilty. 

He  was  only  anxious,  at  the  moment,  to  know 
whether  or  not  Sam  was  a  bachelor  —  for  it  was  one  of 
his  theories  of  life  that  marriage  preserved  a  man  to 
virtue,  whereas  bachelorhood  led  through  dissipation  to 
disease,  shiftlessness,  the  poor  farm,  or  a  penal  insti- 
tution. His  own  wife,  he  held,  had  made  a  man  of 
him. 

He  wished  to  preach  to  Sam  from  some  such  text, 
and  it  piqued  him  that  Sam  rejected  his  friendly  over- 
tures of  conversation.  He  bounced  himself  impa- 
tiently on  the  springs  of  his  seat,  or  he  turned  suddenly 
to  look  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  car;  and  each  time 
he  contrived,  as  if  accidentally,  to  give  a  twisting 
wrench  to  the  bare  wrist  that  was  chained  to  his  hand- 
cuff. At  last  Sam,  without  a  change  of  his  blank  look, 
uttered  a  low,  moaning  groan  that  came  as  if  it  had 
worked  its  way  up  from  the  very  depths  of  inarticulate 
distress. 

It  gave  Johns  a  chill.  He  said  to  himself:  "  He 's 
bug !  He 's  crazy  t "  And,  sitting  very  quiet,  he 
watched  his  prisoner  warily,  askance. 

Sam  showed  no  further  sign  of  life,  having  now 


•  SILENT  SAM 

But  though  he  wa,  rewsured,  he  remained  watchful, 
wid.  a  «eu.e  of  eomethiug  uncaimy  beside  him-aS 

IwTr"*'  '*'".'  "»'  "•"  ^^'^^  till  thei.  train 
rfowed  down  at  the  little  rnudd^  mountain  to^vn  Z 
made  a  railway  station  for  "  the  Pen." 

Sam  rose  to  the  pull  of  the  handcuff,  like  a  man 
.^1',"'/""°"^'  "''*  *»  *'"'  station  plttfonn" 

.id"Jthe?;i  '/'^'  ''''^'^  ''"^  "p'^  « 

eiaewajJt  of  the  hillside  street,  shuffling  alonir  b«iHB  I,;. 

rsr;  '""'r'f  ^-  ^••^  '^^^^^  f-t;/ h^'  :„;; 

m  h,8  days  of  police  duty.     Whenever  he  was  accused 
of  any  pohtzcal  obliquity,  he  would  admit  «  WeU  Sv 

Sinite*" Vrr^^  *  '"~«  --    - 

ih^rl "  '^V^"  ^  ^^  condemned  to  prison  for  life 
^ere  may  be  something  momentous  in  his  arrival  al 

^,   the  event  is  commonplace  and  routinary      In 
^^./.^fei^SstTo^-^dirtC-^^^^^ 


SILENT  SAM  f 

Handouffed  to  the  deputy,  he  wi;»  drawn  up  the 
•tone  itepa  of  the  adminiatration  hi  .ding,  in  the  cheer- 
ful lunlight,  and  led  into  the  coolness  of  a  white-tiled 
hall  that  echoed  at  once  with  Johns's  "  Well,  boys,  how 
are  you  f  How  are  you  ? "  There  was  a  note  of  eager 
escape  from  silence  in  the  exuberance  of  his  voice.  He 
turned  Sam  into  a  receiving  office  and  held  him  stand- 
ing before  a  wooden  railing  while  he  gave  a  cWk  the 
mittimus  from  the  judge  who  had  passed  sentence. 

"  All  right,"  the  clerk  said.  "  I  '11  give  it  to  you  on 
your  way  out "—  referring  to  the  receipt  for  the  prig- 
oner.  He  was  busy  making  up  his  quarry  accounts  for 
the  warden's  annual  report.  "How  are  your  feet?" 
he  asked,  with  his  pen  across  his  teeth,  grinning. 

"Still  steppin'  heavenward,  little  one,"  the  deputy 
replied  from  the  doorway,     "  Be  good." 

He  took  Sam  down  the  tiled  hall  to  its  farther  end, 
where  a  turnkey  sat  in  a  cage  made  of  two  ceiling-high 
grating*  across  the  passageway  and  two  grated  doors  in 
the  sidewalls.  Johns  greeted  him  jovially.  He  nod- 
ded in  reply,  with  a  slow  smile,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

He  had  a  manner  of  being  unwilling  tliat  he  should 
be  distracted  by  conversation  from  his  attention  to  his 
'ife-woik  of  opening  and  closing  four  grated  doors  so 
as  t»  have  only  one  door  at  a  time  unlocked.  He  did 
not  evm  glance  at  the  new  prisoner  in  reply  to  Johns's 
genial,  "Brought  f  another  ol'  bachelor,  Jake." 
When  they  had  entered  his  cage  he  locked  the  door 
behind  them,  spoke  softly  into  a  telephone  on  the  wall, 


'  SILENT  SAM 

Md  then  anlo^ed  Mother  door,  in  the  .ide  of  hi.  cige, 
to  let  m  M,  oJlci.1  in  •  blue  uniform  whom  the  loqu.- 
ciou*  John*  greeted  u  "  Cap'n." 

"Here'i  the  noiiiest  bum  I  ever  wen,"  John.  ..id, 
M  he  reloMed  Sun  from  U.  hudouff..  «  He '.  .bout 
u  chatty  M  a  lo-:  o'  lumber." 

Sun  .twed  put  them  at  nothing. 

"He^.  a  terror  to  think,"  John.  ..id.    «'Tou  can 

They  looked  .t  him  for  the  flr.t  time,  «d  there  w. 
T^^T.'"  tte  .adncM  of  hi.  «,t  eye.  that  .b.,'  3d 
all  but  John.,  The  captain,  with  the  bmsknew  of  a 
man  who  had  blundered  upon  the  «!eno  of  a  private 
«motion,  immediately  .igned  to  the  turnkey,  who  noi«^ 
«.ly  opened  the  third  door.  The  captain  hurried  S«n 
throng  ,t,  holding  him  by  the  upper  arm,  and  led  him 

d^wn  the  hall  to  a  large  arch  that  opened  on  the  prison 
courtyard.  A  guard,  ..tting  in  a  .teel  cage  above  them, 
with  a  pump^n  acro«  hi.  knee.,  looked  down  watch- 
my  on  their  back.  a.  they  .tepped  into  the  graveled 
court    And  Sam  was  "  in  the  Pen." 

Here,  between  the  gray  rtone  rampart,  of  the  outer 
wal J,  .tood  a  gray  .tone  quadruigle  of  cell-touse., 
work-.hop8,  and  bamtck-like  building,,  guarded  by  wn- 
tne.  with  nfle.  m  watch-tower.,  or  by  men  at  grated 
door,  with  loaded  canee  and  concealed  revolvers.  Thew 
men  wore  blue  uniforms     Their  sole  work  in  life  wn. 

yellow-and-black  unifonns,  so  as  to  prevent  them  from 
escaping  from  the  little  granite  hell  to  which  they  had 


SILENT  SAM  » 

been  condemned  for  tran»greMing  those  commandmenti 
of  iociety  which  we  call,  proudly,  "  Uw»." 

The  sunlight  that  had  ihone  on  Sam  aa  he  mounted 
the  entrance  tteps  to  the  adminiitration  building  ihono 
on  him  again  aa  he  croaaed  the  quadrangle  to  die  hos- 
pital building,  where  he  would  bo  numbered,  photo- 
graphed, bathed  and  shared,  and  photographed  a  second 
time  in  his  stripes.  But  the  difference  between  the 
■un  in  the  courtyard  and  the  sun  on  the  steps  was  this: 
no  matter  how  long  Sam  might  live  to  see  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  the  courtyard,  he  would  never  again  see  the  sun 
shining  on  the  steps. 


Johns  went  at  once  to  "  tallc  politics  "  in  the  warden's 
office,  where  he  was  as  welcome  as  a  counti^  peddler 
who  brings  all  the  neighborhood  news.  And  he  was 
still  there  —  his  hat  pushed  back  from  his  bald  fore- 
heed,  his  hands  clasped  pudgily  across  the  bulge  of  his 
waist  —  when  the  day  captain  returned  from  entering 
Sam  according  to  the  prescribed  formalities,  and  stood 
frowning  at  a  paper  in  his  hand  till  the  warden  should 
recognize  him. 

Warden  Zug  was  merely  a  political  henchman  thriv- 
ing in  a  political  office.  It  was  his  business  to  make 
easy  the  fulfilment  of  prison  contracts  by  faithful  parti- 
sans, without  public  scandal  —  to  collect  his  own  graft 
on  supplies  and  not  be  too  greedy  of  the  larger  profits 
of  the  contractors  —  to  find  places  on  the  prison  staff 
for  the  lesser  parasites  of  the  party  and  set    "-  it  in  their 


10 


SILENT  SAM 


^itmg  on  the  pmoners  they  stopped  short  of  opptt«- 

appropnat.onB)  for  his  political  friends,  while  care- 
fully preserving  the  appearance  of  administering  it  as 
a  p^al  institution.    He  was  a  small,  sandy-haired 

dot  r  '^7f\q"«««''°«-  I  think  he's  kind  o' 
dotty.  I  Ve  filled  this  out  the  best  I  can."  He  put 
his  paper  on  the  warden's  desk  and  held  it  with  a  fore- 
finger pointing.     "Sam  Daneen's   the  name  on  tht 

marriS^"  ^*  ^'  religion-ner  whether  he's 

«He*^Ln^t'K,  ''^^    P"*    ^-     -thoritatively. 

"wl.-u  "''"'""•     They  always  are."  ^ 

^^What  8  the  matter?"  the  warden  asked.     "Sul- 

The  day  captain  rubbed  his  forehead.     «  No<>.    He 

"What's  he  in  fer?" 

m™t'\^°*''P°''^=  "^''y'  ^"-le"'  don't  you  re 
^ember  the  wreck  on  the  Little  Sandy  -  down  by  Z 
Gorg^-on  the  D.  &  C.  ?    Judge  Puiis  gave  hiL^Hfl 


SILENT  SAM  n 

Warden  Zug  had  begun  to  dip  his  pen.  He  looked 
up  at  Johns  with  a  quick  craftiness,  stirring  his  pen 
around  in  the  shallow  ink-well.  "  Judge  Purvis  ? "  he 
said.     "A 'D.  &C.' case?" 

And  Johns,  without  releasing  a  muscle  of  his  fat  im- 
passivity, dropped  a  solemn,  sly  wink  of  guile  at  him. 

Zug  scrutinized  his  pen-nib  a  moment  and  then  re- 
turned to  the  paper  before  him.  "  '  Unmarried,'  "  he 
said,  scribbling  it  in  on  a  blank  line.  "Daneen,  eh? 
Huh.  ^^ '  K.  C    let  it  go  at  that.    Where  've  you  put 

"  Number  one  cell-house,  Warden  —  till  I  find  out 
where  he 's  goin'  to  work." 

"  TJh-huh."  The  warden  thought  it  over.  He  said, 
absent-mindedly :  "  That  '11  be  all  right,  I  guess,"  and 
held  out  the  paper  to  the  c  ijtain. 

The  man  took  it  with  an  air  of  official  indifference, 
but  he  had  noticed  the  passage  of  looks  between  Johns 
and  Zug,  and  he  resented  his  exclusion  from  the  secret. 
When  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  Johns  hitched 
his  chair  up  closer  to  the  desk  and  said  under  his  voice: 
"  I  did  n't  see  the  trial,  Warden.  I  was  off  to  the  con- 
vention. But  I  remember  when  he  was  arrested.  Ger- 
ter  found  him  asleep  'n  under  a  tree  near  the  track,  an' 
run  him  in  on  the  chance." 

"  How  many  was  killed  ? " 

"  About  thirty,  mebbe.     I  forget." 

"Huh!"  Zug  nodded  shrewdly.  "What  was  it? 
Spread  rails  ? " 

Johns  looked  as  wise  as  a  joss  —  to  conceal  his  igno- 


12 


SILENT  SAM 


ranee.  «  Warden,"  he  said,  "  that  '  D.  &  C  road-bed 
ain't  safe  fer  a  hand-car,  half  its  time."  He  insinu- 
ated:    "  You  know  what  Purvis  is." 

He  was,  in  fact,  trying  to  draw  out  information 
under  the  pretense  of  imparting  it.  He  knew  almost 
nothing  of  Daneen's  case;  he  had  scarcely  given  it  a 
thought.  But  Zijg-s  face  of  suspicion  had  started  the 
hint  of  a  judicial  scandal  for  him,  and  he  was  smokimt 
It  out.  ^ 

"The  'D.  &  C  backed  Purvis's  nomination  with 
twenty  thousand,"  Zug  said.  "  Gave  it  to  us  flat,  fer 
the  campaign  in  our  distric',  the  night  we  put  him  on 
the  ticket.  He's  been  doin'  their  dirty  work  ever 
since.^  There  ain't  been  a  cent  o'  damages  collected 
from  em  in  his  court  since  he  went  on  the  bench." 

"  Well,"  Johns  hazarded,  "  they  'd  've  had  some  dam- 
ages to  pay  on  that  Little  Sandy  wreck  if  they  hadn't 
hung  It  on  this  poor  hobo.  Him  wreck  a  train  1  "  He 
lay  back  and  laughed  shrilly  -  venting  the  pleasure  he 
felt  m  having  caught  his  scandal.  "  Why,  the  poor 
mutt  ain't  got  spunk  enough  to  derail  a  jack  rabbit." 
Zug  said  suddenly :  "  I  want  to  see  him." 
Johns  rose  with  ingratiating  alacrity.  "He's  in 
number  one." 

The  warden  merely  growled:  "Tell  'em  tobrin* 
him  in  here." 

As  a  politician,  he  knew,  of  course,  that  he  could  not 
meddle  with  any  decree  of  injustice  that  had  been  in- 
spired by  the  great  "  D.  &  C."  It  made  the  governors: 
It  picked  the  legislatures;  it  nominated  the  supreme 


SILENT  SAM 


18 


court  of  his  state.  But  in  forcing  Judge  Purvis  on 
the  district  bench  it  had  crowded  aside  Zug's  favorite 
son-in-law,  in  Zug's  own  district,  and  humiliated  him 
in  the  home  of  his  friends.  By  their  subsequent  re- 
wafd  of  that  humiliation  the  "  D.  &  C.  people "  had 
only  served  to  justilj  his  resentment  in  his  own  eyes, 
tb  gh  he  had  come  to  feel  less  bitterness  toward  the 
"D.  &  C."  than  toward  Purvis.  He  wished  —  hu- 
manly enough  —  to  despise  Purvis,  to  look  down  on 
him,  to  find  him  guilty  of  some  act  that  should  make 
him  contemptible;  for  Zug  was  not  so  small  in  mind 
that  he  could  be  satisfied  with  a  mere  resentment. 
He  waited,  frowning  darkly. 

He  was  disappointed  in  Daneen's  appearance  when 
the  guard  led  him  in  to  the  ofBce.  The  convict  was  no 
longer  a  possibly  innocent  man ;  he  had  been  made  into 
a  criminal.  His  head  had  become  the  sinister  cropped 
skull  of  dishonor.  Stripped  of  his  beard,  his  face  be- 
low the  eyes  had  a  wrinkled,  unwholesome,  repellent 
pallor.  His  ill-fitting  prison  stripes  disfigured  him  as 
much  as  they  degraded.  He  stumbled  in  his  clumsy 
convict  shoes.  He  looked  ridiculous,  odious,  evil. 
There  remained  only  the  dignity  of  pathos  in  his  mute 


Zug,  without  rising,  dismissed  the  guard  with  a  jerk 
of  the  head  toward  the  door,  and  said  to  Sam,  in  a 
kindly  gruffness:     "  Come  over  here." 

Sam  did  not  move.  He  stood  with  his  arms  hanging, 
his  head  drooped.  Johns  took  him  by  the  sleeve  and 
drew  him  up   beside  the  warden's  table-desk.     His 


14 


SILENT  SAM 


r 


prison  cap  lay  on  the  carpet  where  he  had  been  stand- 
ing. 

"He's  dotty,  Warden,"  Johns  apologized.  "He's 
doped." 

Zug  replied,  in  an  undertone,  impatiently :  "  Leave 
him  alone."  He  was  absorbed  in  his  scrutiny  of  the 
heavy,  slanted  sag  of  the  mouth,  the  perplexed  corruga- 
tion  of  the  forehead,  the  sightless,  wrinkled  stare  of  the 
blue  eyes.  "Look  at  me,"  he  said.  "Here"  !!■■ 
rose  and  put  his  hand  to  Sam's  chin,  and  turned  the 
race  toward  him. 

For  a  moment  the  eyes  did  not  even  see  him.  They 
looked  through  him,  beyond  him.  When  at  last  the 
pupils  focused  on  him,  it  was  with  the  empty  dullness 
of  the  gaze  of  a  sick  animal 

"What've  they  been  doin'  to  you?"  Zug  asked. 
If  he  had  been  holding  a  cowed  collie  dog  by  the 
muzzle  to  speak  to  it,  it  might  have  watched  him  so- 
not   ookmg  at  his  lips  when  they  moved,  as  even  an 
intelligent  child  would,  but  at  his  whole  face  in  a  large 
meaningless,  dumb  regard.  ' 

"  You  never  wrecked  that  train,  did  you  ?  " 
It  seemed  as  if  he  w«re  about  to  answer.  His  eye- 
brows twitched  and  contracted.  The  muscles  trem- 
bled in  his  lips  with  a  fluttering  that  accompanied  a 
clicking  of  his  teeth.  His  eyes  wavered  irresolutely, 
but  with  a  light  of  intelligence.  And  then  suddenly 
^e  eyebrows  went  up  in  their  plaintive  frown  again. 
His  gaze  set  on  the  distance.  His  lips  sagged  back  into 
their  loose  droop.    And  Zug  felt  that  he  had  been  heard 


SILENT  SAM 


16 


and,  after  gome  sort  of  despairing  consideration,  ig- 
nored. 

He  sat  down  and  drummed  thoughtfully  on  his  blot- 
ter-pad.    "  I  suppose,"  he  said.     "  I  suppose." 

He  summed  it  up  to  Johns :  "  He 's  got  his,  an'  I 
guess  he  knows  it."  There  was  contempt  in  his  pity  — 
the  natural  contempt  of  such  a  man  as  he  for  the  victim 
of  those  conditions  of  society  over  which  he  himself  had 
triumphed.  "Tell  them  to  take  him  back,"  he  or- 
dered. "  Tell  them  to  ask  the  steward  to  give  him 
work  in  the  kitchen." 

Johns  had  been  watching  and  listening  in  an  eager 
silence.  He  took  Sam  by  the  elbow,  now,  with  the  air 
of  an  old  wojnan  who  has  shared  in  a  scene  of  family 
scandal  and  who  conceals,  in  an  expression  of  decent 
deprecation,  her  relish  of  the  gossip  in  which  she  is  to 
delight.  He  even  stopped  sympathetically  to  pick  up 
Sam's  prison  cap  as  they  passed  it;  and  he  gave  the 
warden's  instructions  to  the  guard  in  the  corridor,  con- 
fidentially, in  the  manner  of  a  loyal  friend  of  the  fam- 
ily who  could  be  depended  on  to  be  discreet.  ("  I  won- 
der what  the  hell 's  up  ?  "  the  guard  asked  the  turnkey, 
and  they  both  stared  at  the  mysterious  Sam.) 

"Well,  Warden,"  Johns  said,  after  an  awkward 
pause  of  lingering,  "  I  guess  I  '11  toddle  along." 

Zug  grunted  indififerentlj  and  the  deputy  sheriff 
hurried  .iway  as  fast  as  he  could  shuffle,  to  pursue  the 

truth  about  Sam  where  he  knew  he  could  find  it in 

tbe  sheriff's  office. 


16 


SILENT  SAM 


courage).     And  in  tt,„  .  ™®'  '°  'how  his 

^-  able  to  get  a  'Z  ou  of  V  'V"'^  °°  ""^  ""^^ 
had  ield  back  the  lie  by  1  /"^l.  ^°'  *"°  <^-^«  ^^ 
'nove^aents,  which  IXdlr"^,""^  '^""^''^  "^  »■- 
thaa  guided  hy  any  IZ^™  ?  n^  """""'"'''  '"'^^^ 
disWashing  i^  a  Lt"  ll  C^T^'  "'  ■'^^'^^ 
m  the  evening  when  th.  "^^^^^J  affair,  particularly 

feaeh  their  bSC t  ^^  ntiLT;'  ''T  '"'  " 
imprecations,  tried  to  lostirH  "^  ^-uttered 

a^d  complained  of  ht^nXr  f  ^  ""f  ^' 
foreman.  -      ""*v     w^ho  was  their 

a- lit!  r2.r2^;^;r  f^'  ^^  '-^^  ^^« 

•W  When  the  ::  ty"i  T  '""'"^  ^^  ^» 
seemed  unable  to  control  hi»l,T  '■"""'trate,  he 
an  idiot  when  the'n  di  ht  J^^^^l'""^  «'  th^""  «ke 
and  clattered  on  the  stone  fl^?"*  '^"""^^  ^^  Angers 
«<«ward  finally  toi^riwaTa;^  Iff.^^  '^^ 
men  who  sat  all  dav  n»,r      .T    ^  *  ^™  ^^^  the 

-aping  away  mechTni^i;  Tlt"'^  ^"  ^  «*-'' 

^ith  a  dull  knife    in  fit,     /  •  .       ^  ^^*«™  t"bers 

'  '"^  ^*'  ''^  '''<l«»t^  that  alternated 


SILENT  SAM  lY 

with  intervals  of  a  frowning  and  motionless  vacuity 
from  which  he  had  to  be  wakened  with  a  shake.  Then 
he  began  to  have  trouble  with  his  eyes  —  an  inflamma- 
tion, apparently.  It  kept  them  always  blurred  with  a 
moisture  that  overflowed  on  his  cheeks,  as  if  he  were 
peehng  onions  instead  of  potatoes.  He  seemed  no 
longer  able  to  see  what  he  was  doing,  and  he  cut  ruinous 
slices  from  the  vegetables  instead  of  merely  peeling 
them. 

The  prison  doctor  found  him  suffering  frou  a  nerv- 
ous affection  of  the  tear  ducts;  they  had  so  contracted 
that  they  were  unable  to  drain  the  eyes.  For  want  of 
a  better  place,  he  was  given  a  cell  in  the  hospital  annex, 
where  the  feeble-minded  were  confined.  They  had  the 
freedom  of  the  corridor  of  their  cell-house  during  cer- 
tain hours  of  the  day,  and  Sam  walked  there  inces- 
santly, with  his  head  down,  or  rested,  squatting  on  his 
heels  m  a  comer,  blinking  his  wet  eyes. 

When  Deputy-Sheriff  Johns  had  turned  over  his 
young  burglar  to  the  prison,  he  found  the  dootor  in  the 
warden's  office  reporting  on  Sam's  condition.  And  the 
doctor  was  saying:  «  There 's  nothing  to  prevent  him 
from  talking  if  he  wants  to.  I  thought  he  'd  been  hurt 
in  the  head,  perhaps  —  a  brain  lesion.  No  such  thing. 
It  IS  n't  that  he  won't  talk  because  he 's  insane,  but  he  's 
probably  going  insane  because  he  won't  talk.  We  can't 
do  anything  for  him,  except  keep  him  quiet  and  give 
him  a  chance." 

Johns  contained  himself  in  silence  — as  a  sort  of 
proof  to  himself  that  he  could  be  silent,  for  he  had 


^f 


18 


SILENT  SAM 


been  talking  to  a  nei^'Bpaper  reporter  about  S««    .„A 

door  had  closed  on  the  doctor's  departure  did  hT^ 
lus  chair  up  beside  the  wardenTSril    \^"'' 
-gerl,:     "I  found  out  all  aboTh^m,  W^'del     S; 
waajobbed-Daneen.     One  o' the  bo^  Wn  ol 

tir  rirttr-  h'  v^  ^^^ 

whirT'T  "''""'  f  ''"'  ^"'-^  •^«'-'«  --t«l 
Th  !'  '  u  T  *"'  "''''  ^''''i  indifferently:  « 8ur«. 
That 's  what  I  told  you." 

"  He  was  jobbed.     Garter  found  "■  m  asleei,  '«  „n^ 
.tree  when  he  went  down  to  look  ovTr^rwrLk     ? 

-oitrxtati^-s^^^^^ 

told  one  o'  the  boys-h^  w!  r  t^'ac^alker 


SILENT  SAM 


1» 


"  Sure,"  the  warden  said  digpassionately.  "  That  'a 
what  I  told  you." 

"  Daneen  'd  got  a-hold  of  a  shyster  lawyer  that  took 
a  twenty-dollar  bill  he  'd  carried  sewed  up  in  his  shirt 
—  an'  then  let  him  get  it  in  the  neck.  He  did  n't  have 
nothin'  to  say  fer  himself,  till  Purvis  ast  him  from  the 
bench,  an'  then  he  started  a  long  spiel  about  his  wife 
havin'  consumption  an'  shippin'  her  off  to  California, 
an'  him  startin'  to  walk  from  Pittsburg  after  her,  doin' 
odd  jobs  an'  bein'  six  months  on  the  road  —  'cause  he  'd 
give  her  all  his  money  an'  sends  her  half  he  makes  — 
but  Purvis  outs  him  short  an'  gives  him  life  — so 's 
the  road  would  n't  have  to  pay  damages." 

"Sure.  Sure.  That 's  Purvis."  The  warden  stood 
up  with  a  sour  smile. 

"  He  ain't  opened  his  mouth  since,"  Johns  added. 
"They  could  n't  get  a  word  out  o'  him  in  the  jail.  He 
did  n't  even  write  t»  his  wife  about  it." 

Zug  had  reached  the  door.  "  Lot  o'  good  that  'd 
'a'  done  him,"  he  grumbled.  "  I  got  to  get  my  report 
out."     He  left  Johns  without  any  apology. 

Johns  found  himself  resentfully  pleased  that  he  had 
talked  to  the  reporter.  That  reporter  recognized  a 
good  "  story  "  when  he  heard  it. 

Johns  was  "  no  such  fool  as  you  'd  think."  Though 
he  could  make  a  joke  at  his  own  expense,  he  was  not  a 
■meek  man.  He  had  his  vanity.  And  he  could  be  se- 
cretly and  poiscnously  malicious  in  his  enmities.  He 
could  "tell  a  thing  or  two,"  if  he  chose,  about  almost 
any  one  who  crossed  him.    He  was  not  above  telling 


20 


SILENT  SAM 


what  he  knew  even  about  the  Powers  that  befriended 
mm  — and  then  denying  that  he  had  opened  hig  loyal 
and  protesting  mouth.  The  reporter  to  whom  he  had 
been^  talking,  worked  for  the  independent  "  labor  jour- 
ml  that  was  leading  the  new  political  revolt  againat 
he  railway  control  of  the  government  of  the  state;  he 
liad  had  more  than  one  scandal  "  tipped  ofiE "  to  him  by 
Johns.  •' 

"i4  "J'f?"  '°  "'^  ^""^  "^^^  '••«  ■*'*  o'  them,"  Johns 
w«uldtellhim.  "Igottobe-tokeepmyjob.  But 
I  would  nt  weep  any  salt  tears  if  the  whole  bunch  was 
blown  to  blazes.  They  make  me  work  fer  my  bread 
an  butter  — an' </iey  get  all  the  cake." 

He  had  concluded  his  account  of  the  jobbing  of  Da- 
neen:  "An?  him  a  decent  married  man!  A  decent 
married  man  I"  He  was  sincere  on  that  point.  It  had 
touched  his  sympathy.  It  might  have  excused  him  to 
himself  for  leaking  "  to  the  newspaperman,  if  he  had 
had  any  scruples  about  it.  Ab  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had 
recently  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  a  man  of  inde- 
pendence who  did  political  "  dirty  work  for  the  higher- 
ups  because  he  had  to  earn  his  living  under  them,  but 
who  secretly  preserved  himself  clean  of  any  loyalty  to 
hem,  in  their  sculduggery,  by  criticizing  them  behind 
their  backs  to  any  one  who  was  not  of  their  following. 


Silent  Sam  s  story  was  published  to  the  state  under 
a  startling  thre^column  head  "  Imiocent  Man  Con- 
demned?  -with  the  saving  question-mark  as  an  in- 


SILENT  SAM 


21 


durance  againtt  libel.  Judge  Purvis  wa«  handled  with 
a  sarcastic  courtesy  that  could  not  bo  prosecuted  for 
contempt  of  court.  Four  "  professional  jurors,"  who 
bad  sat  on  the  case,  wore  ringingly  denounced,  but  not 
by  name.  Iho  witness  Gahn  was  "  alleged "  to  be 
everything  suspicious.  The  whole  article,  written  to 
make  a  charge  of  criminality  against  the  railway,  was 
ingeniously  worded  to  give  the  effect  of  making  the 
charge,  without  actually  making  it,  so  that  the  sovereign 
D.  &  C.  might  not  have  the  opportunity  of  defending 
itself  in  its  own  courts,  before  its  own  judges,  with  a 
jury  picked  to  find  it  innocent. 

Sam's  case,  in  fact,  was  carried  to  that  almighty 
court  of  ultimate  appeal  in  the  democracy  —  the  peo- 
ple.    And  they  began  to  sit  on  it. 

They  were  assisted  by  the  ironic  editorials  of  the 
little  labor  journal  and  by  the  dignified  exterior  of 
silence  preserved  by  the  "kept"  newspapers  of  the 
ruling  powers.  The  D.  &  C.  refused,  of  course,  to 
come  into  any  such  court.  The  case  began  to  go  against 
the  railway  by  default.  Deputy  Johns  carried  himself 
with  such  circumspection  that  he  refused  to  recognize 
the  reporter  when  they  passed  on  the  street.  And 
Silent  Sam,  trudging  up  and  down  the  cement  corridor 
of  his  cell-house  —  stared  at  through  the  bars  by  visit- 
ors, interrogated  in  vain  by  the  guards  —  remained  as 
insensible  to  his  notoriety  as  he  was  to  the  mumbling 
of  the  maniac,  in  a  neighboring  cell,  who  thought  him- 
self the  Czar  of  Russia  and  accepted  Sam  as  the  sentry 
at  his  palp  >  gate. 


tfl 


99 


SILENT  SAM 


k   ■■•■ 


At  the  end  of  tlie  week,  a  negro  tremp  wu  emitMl 

tbet  he  h.d  helped  D.neon  wreck  the  train  on  the 

^^  „d     «^ht  back  for  .ral-liJfore'jud^ 
Purv,^     He  pleaded  guilty.     He  wa,  sentenced  to  iS. 

d!Z1  °"     '  ^""■""^  ""'  '"^  *>^  Samuel 

anftW   ""°^  *°  P?  **"*  I>«P"ty-Sheriff  Johns  had 
pother  pnsoner  to  deliver  to  the  Pen  _  a  big,  simply 
m.hng  negro  who  called  him  "  boas  »  and  accented  hil 
escort  almost  protectingly. 

at  'him  on  ^  •  °  ''"'^'°  '"•*''''  ^""7'"  J"*'''''  '""M 
station.       This  's  no  foot-race."' 

bosI"\°„T '^.5''''^  ''*"''^^*^^«*^>^-  "Allraight, 
boss,  he  drawled.  "  Ah 'm  sa'sfied.  Don'  you  tiah 
yusself  non.     Mah  laigs  is  jus'  kind  ah  oneas/'' 

leh     Johns  grunted.     "  Well,  they  '11  get  ust  to 
<*<.<  in  the  nex' thirty  er'rty  years."  «*'""»*«> 

Ajid    the    negro    chuckled     delightedly     '  Tha 's 
J-aight,  boss.     Tha'anolie." 

He  continued  interested,  pleased,  and  happy  in  all 
TJZ'  '"T^^^  *^«y  did;  and  when  Erl  L 
was  well  under  way,  Johns  put  into  words  his  conclu- 
sions on  the  man's  behavior,  by  saying-  "You'" 
just  dam  fool  enough  to  belief  th«e  p^ple  ain^^i™ 
to  keep  you  in,  eh  ? "  ^  ^ 

The  negro,  flattered  by  this  attention  from  a  white 


SILENT  SAM 


23 


offioitl,  uked,  with  hi*  head  on  one  «ide,  grinning: 
"  How  d'  you  mean,  boM  ?    How  d'  you  mean  I  " 

"You  know  'how'  I  mean.  They're  playin'  you 
fer  a  lucker.    Did  the  detective  give  y'  any  money  ?  " 

'I  Ainy  money  I    Fo'  God,  boeo,  I  don'  get  nothin'." 

"All  right,"  John*  said.  "  Dream  on.  Dream  on. 
What 's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mah  name '«  Joel." 

"  All  right,  Joel.  Tell  me  ivhen  you  find  yourself 
beginnin'  to  wake  up."  Johns  tipped  his  hat  down  on 
his  eyes  and  leaned  back  comfortably  in  his  seat.  The 
fraiu  was  crawling  up  the  rise  of  alkali  flats  toward 
the  foothills,  in  the  heat  and  glare  of  dusty  barrenness. 
After  a  long  silence,  Joel  asked:  "Does  you  know 
this  heah  Sam  Daneen,  boss  ? " 

Johns  replied  placidly  that  Sam  Ta.  ,-.u  old  and  in- 
timate friend;  that  every  one  knew  he  had  not  wrecked 
the  D.  &  C.  train;  but  that  the  railway  detectives  had 
accused  him  of  it  so  that  the  read  might  not  have  to 
pay  damages  on  the  wreck.  Johns  made  that  point 
very  clear.  He  illustrated  it,  elucidated  it  in  detail, 
forced  it  on  the  intelligence  of  the  blinking  ne- 
gro. 

"  They  put  him  in  the  Pen,"  he  said,  "  so 's  to  save 
nil  that  money.  See,  sonny  ?  We  were  fightin'  to  get 
him  out.  We  were  provin'  he'd  never  wrecked  the 
train.^  So  they  gets  you  to  say  you  helped  him  wreck 
it,  an'  that  settles  him.  an'  keeps  the  money  in  the  bank. 
See?  An'  then  they  flings  you  in  with  him  —  'cause 
you  said  you  'd  helped  him  — an'  they  keeps  you  there. 


uii 


III 


If 


24 


SILENT  SAM 


so's  they  won't  have  to  pay  you.    See? 


An' 


orery- 


about  at,  af  Ah  wants  to  gait  out?     Ah  can  do  thaV 

auhely  requiahed  to  play  squah  wUh  ^      'ih  sutSnV 
«tood  by  mah  promises.     Ah  suttenly  did."  "^ 

-lo  which  Johns  sneprnW-     « v„        ^^^    , 
big  foo,  nigge™.  ToTi;tten W^''^^  "^^  ^^ 

n^utr;  his  E^r^  m  rr  *'t  r ^  -''''  '^' 

out:     "Mebhe   Ah   ZYk^Z:^' 'j'^'' ''^^ 

FV-        weii,  1  U  interduce  vou  bo      Vn„  •,„ 
goin'  to  spend  the  rest  o'  your  '  bo'n  d«  L '  ,    w 
with  him"     Or    ™        J  "0°  days' locked  up 

tn  mm.       Or,  more  desperately:     "  Cain't    Ah  a 
nothin'  'bout  it,  boss?"     La    /i  ^° 

"Ton'™   J      •''  °°8S{       And  still  more  cheerfully 

/ou  ve   done   your   doin's,    Joel      You '«.    » 
nigger."  >    ""ci.     lou  re   a   gone 

After  forty  miles  of  this  sort  of  «  third  -^  ^ee  "  Joel 
was  a  worried-looking,  mulatto^oW  sonT'^ai; 


SILENT  SAM 


25 


betrayed  into  the  p<-  ver  of  the  dominant  race.  He  be- 
gan to  stammer  an  aliaost  uniiu Eligible,  terrified  ex- 
planation of  what  lad  hannoneJ  in  Portland. 

"Keep  that  fer  the  wardeu,"  Johns  stopped  him; 
for  Johns  was  planning  a  surprise  for  Zug.  "  I  can't 
help  you  any.     Keep  it  fer  him." 

"  The  wa-wahden  ?     'S  he  the  man  ? " 

"He's  the  man  fer  you,  sonny.  He  can  do  a  lot 
fer  you.  Come  along,  now.  Here 's  where  you  meet 
the  '  wahden.' " 

A  hope  as  simple  as  his  terror  drew  him  out  to  the 
station  platform  and  cheered  him  up  the  fatal  hillside 
to  the  stone  walls  of  the  Pen. 

"  Don't  go  too  fast,"  Johns  purred.  "  You  '11  get 
winded.  You  won't  be  able  to  make  your  little  speech. 
That 's  better.  You  '11  have  lots  o'  time  .  .  .  Fine 
day,  Joel.  Sun 's  hot,  eh?  .  .  .  Well,  it  '11  be  shadier 
inside  .  .  .  Here  we  are." 

He  led  him  straight  to  the  warden's  office.  "  Here 's 
a  nigger  wants  to  see  you,"  he  announced  to  Zug.  "  He 
wants  to  tell  you  how  they  got  him  to  swear  he  helped 
on  that  Little  Sandy  wreck." 

"To'  God,"  Joel  broke  out  wQdly,  "Ai  nevah 
wrecked  no  train,  boss.     Ah  — " 

Zug  rosaVith  his  wrinkled  smile  and  patted  him  on 
the  should^s^  "  Just  a  minute,  boy,"  he  said.  "  You 
better  ^J^^is  to  a  man  it  '11  do  some  good  to.  He  's 
inside  ^iK."  He  led  him  to  the  corridor.  "  Jake," 
he  said,  to  the  turnkey,  "tell  Geddes  to  put  this  man 
in  to  take  care  o'  Sam  Daneen."    He  explained,  as 


\ 


I  .J 


:\\ 


26 


SIIENT  SAM 


Johns  ju^ocked  the  handcuffs  in  the  tunJcey's  ca... 
likftn  .  """f  °^  "  *■*«''- Sanx  ain't -It  he  ^i 
hke  to  hsten  about  that  w«cL     Tell  Aim  about  t." 

Johns  chuckled  flatteringly:     "He  n^TJ/u 
neither.     He  can  tell   'n.   .      *.  °*  ^""7' 

TT«'n  I,        ,  ™  **  "fte"!  M  he  likes    eh? 

He  1]  have  lots  o'  tima"  ' 


HIS  MOTHEB 


St 

ni 


HIS  MOTHEE 


M 


MES.  EEGAN  was  at  the  front  window  of  her 
tenement-house  flat,  watching.  She  was  not 
beautiful.  Her  eyes  were  sunken  and  heady  under  the 
worried  wrinkles  of  her  forehead.  Her  high-honed 
cheeks  looked  as  tough  as  the  comers  of  a  battered 
leather  trunk.  Her  withered  old  mouth  was  drawn 
tightly  shut,  as  if  she  were  holding  pins  between  her 
lips.  And  yet,  in  those  eyes,  about  that  mouth,  there 
was  an  expression  of  anxious  and  loving  expectation 
that  was  more  beautiful  than  beauty,  because  it  was  so 
human,  because  it  had  that  endearing  ugliness  of  worn 
life. 

She  was  watching  for  her  son  Larry,  and  she  kept 
saying  to  herself:  "He's  late.  I  wonder  what's 
keepin'  him." 

He  Wis  twenty-odd,  a  typesetter  by  trade,  "  a  sober, 
law-fearin'  good  lad,"  as  she  would  boast,  who  neither 
smoked  nor  drank  nor  used  bad  language  — "  except 
now  an'  then,  mebbe,  when  he  forgets  I  'm  in  hearin'  " 
—  and  who  brought  his  money  home  to  her  on  pay-days 
"  as  reg'lar,  come  Friday,  as  Friday  comes."  She  had 
worked  her  hands  "  to  the  bone  "  to  give  him  his  school- 
29 


in 


so  -.^ 

HIS  MOTHER 

whatever  else  can.e  to  hZ  ^  "^''Wers  or  do 

She  was  working  for  hi  i,    k""^  ""  ^°''^*  P^'^^ 

«*  night  on  a  sewingS^achZt !'  ""  '*''"'^'«  "^«'«« 
(It  was  the  n^achinfrt  i  1  I!?  "''.*^  '^'^  "'«*-■ 
"he  had  been  used  to  Ll  t   ^^'  ^°''*  «>  lo"d; 

Now  she  sat  at  Sm^  't^s  ^ft  '""l  ^'^'^^  ''• 
and  n^ended,  and  coo^d,  ^  sc  utbel "  V''^  ""^•^' 
dusted,  and  washed  for  h^.  ^  1'  ""^  '^'^''  '""^ 
nights  till  he  had  gone  to  W  T^  '"*  ""^  '"*«  «» 
hi-  in,  l^canse  shTZit^'C  ^^1  t  "•^''*  *"<* 
fi-.eo,  he  would  be  Z^^^,^  ^t:  '''  -'  -t^h 

;^i>^  "^^^*'  "^^  ^  ^^^  ^^^.-dttorriit 

wo'nd!:  whS'ki?  J^^-  *'^  ^^"'-^^  *^-     "  I 

eo^eJrlTh^J/r  ^  f^  '^-^'  ^^«  -eet 
kitchen  where  l.lCt '^"  T^  '""^  ^""^^  *«  the 
ont  of  the  oven  to  theTaWe     /  '  *°  ^  "'"'^^'^ 

Joor  of  the  flat,  shflu  1,,":!^  ";  ^«  T" ^  the 
he  would  repl^  ^,h  ,  cheerfu       '^  /f  '  '"  "^^ 

never  talks  till  he 'sfprl  "' ^''t  of  assent  ("He 
he  no  kisses,  no tbr^l"7aT  ^'"^  '"'^'^  ^^'^^ 
between  then,.    Her  pot  „>«  f  v.  °°'  "°  ^'"'^  »*  ^o^e 


HIS  MOTHER 


SI 


grateful;  and  his  final  sigh  of  repletion  would  be  as 
eloquent  to  he.  aa  the  auapiration  of  a  full  heart. 

She  would  have  to  tell  him  all  the  gossip  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, where  she  knew  everybody's  troubles,  because 
everybody  came  to  her  to  borrow  a  little  assistance  in 
bearing  them.  "  Yuh  can  have  annything  I  got  to 
spare,"  she  would  tell  them.  "  Many 's  the  time,  when 
I  had  nothin',  I  wisht  I  o'u'd  borry  it  meself."  And 
he  would  read  the  newspapers  and  listen  to  her  talk  — 
both  at  the  one  time  —  and  if  there  was  any  one  hap- 
pier than  Mrs.  Eegan  then,  it  was  some  one  who  had 
no  right  to  be.     She  was  sure  of  that. 

"He's     late,"     she    said.     "I    wonder—    There 
now  1 " 
It  was  he. 

She  did  not  wait  to  wave  him  a  greeting.     She  ran 
to  the  kitchen  and  caught  up  her  towel,  all  her  anxieties 
forgotten  on  the  instant.     And  it  was  with  no  resentful 
impatience  that  she  cried  "  Is  that  yerself  ? "  when  she 
heard  the  door  open. 
"  Sure,"  he  answered.     "  How  've  you  been  ? " 
She  looked  back  quickly  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
measured  her  drawing  of  tea.     (She  said  afterward: 
"  As  soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth,  I  knowed  there  was 
somethin'  wrong.")     She  heard  him  coming  down  the 
hall  to  her;  and  he  should  have  gone  to  wash.     "  Din- 
ner's  ready,"  she  assured  him. 
He  said:    "So 'ml." 

He  had  a  parcel  in  his  hand.     He  tossed  it  on  the 
kitchen  table. 


!   I 


**  HIS  MOTHER 

"What '8  that?"  she  Mked. 

He  answered:     "  Open  it  an' see." 

hhe  was  not  only  mystified;  she  was  alam,«1  *  a 
iw  casual  explanations,  as  she  untT^  !i  ^""^ 

not  reassure  her-tha   hi  h.^  ^*  *'"'*'  '^''^ 

that  a  pushcart  peddt  had  had  i^It  r.^'/  T'"*' 
she  might  lite  it.  '     "*  ^*  ^^"^  t^^o^ght 

It  was  a  white  crocheted  "umbrella"  shawl 

;There   n.w/sh^rerrlacTed^-  ^^Jf  ^ 
waste  yer  money  ?"'  ^  "  y"" 

bedtm."^'^'  '''^''•"^'^^  -^  --t  "ack  toward  his 

He  knew  that  she  would  fold  thn  «!,.   i  •        . 
drawer,  and  show  it  to  her  visl«  »!    !'  ""■  "  ''"'^'''' 
Larry,"  and  Derhfln»  J  *  "pnsent  from 

Within  theVrideKC:  ^Td-r^t^^"  " 
after  he  left  her   «),„  JI        .  ^"^  ""*  "^^^  that 

puzzled  to  W  :^ha  ;r'W>  1^,  *?- "^««  - 

in  the  extra  spoonful  ^t  thTpof"    ^'^  '"^'  ^'^  P"* 

atS:\re;trsrLr  ^'^^^^  '^  ^^  *""^''«™ 

stand  that  Jhteit  tt  hTd  "r"  ^"""^"^  *"  "-<^- 
he  was  always  Ztt?,'"''^*'"^°'^^'«<'''°««»<'e 
humored.     ZsZt^l     I   r  ^''*"*'"^  "^-^   «°°d- 

old  eyes.  But  she  saw  mthiJlX  ,  T  ^^  '^""P 
finished  telling  her  abouTthe^o;:^*;  ^Jf"  '^  'l' 
-a.  from  Brooklyn  Bridge  J  Hal;!  ^'j^M 


HIS  310THER 


88 


ing  pushed  away  hip  plate  and  tilted  back  his  chair 
comfortably,  he  eaid:  "We  could  get  a  fine  big  flat 
uptown  fer  what  wo  pay  here.  It  would  n't  take  me 
any  longer  to  get  home,  either,  now.  We  don't  have 
to  live  down  here.  We  could  move  fer  nex'  to  nothin' 
—  five  er  ten  dollars." 

He  had  evidently  been  leading  up  to  that  proposal, 
diplomatically;  and  with  equal  diplomacy,  she  evaded 
it.  She  did  not  reply  that  this  was  her  home ;  that  all 
her  friends  were  about  her  here;  that  the  church  in 
which  she  had  been  married,  in  which  he  had  been 
christened,  in  which  she  had  heard  mass  for  the  last 
thirty  years,  was  just  around  the  comer  —  to  say  noth- 
ing of  her  grocer  and  her  butcher.  She  suggested 
merely:    "  Yuh  'd  miss  the  boys." 

This  referred  to  the  younger  members  of  the  Dan 
Ilealy  Democratic  Association  in  which  he  was  a  stal- 
wart. "  Oh,  well, '  he  said,  easily,  "  I  been  thinkin' 
o'  givin'  all  that  up,  any  way.  There 's  nothin'  in  it 
fer  me.  I  got  my  work.  I  don't  need  to  live  off  poli- 
tics.   I  Ve  sort  o'  cut  it  out  lately." 

For  some  days  past,  he  had  been  going  out  every 
night;  and  he  had  let  her  suppose  that  he  had  been 
spending  his  evenings  in  the  rooms  of  the  association, 
helping  to  prepare  for  the  coming  campaign.  She  rose 
to  clear  the  table,  so  that,  under  cover  of  the  activity, 
she  might  have  time  to  think. 

"  I  met  the  Senator  on  the  street  to-day,"  he  said, 
"  an'  told  him." 

"Told  him  what?" 


,1! 


F^l 


**  HIS  MOTHEB 

"Tlwt  I  WW  qu'  ;in'  polities." 


"  Fer  the  We  o'  Heaven, 


"     1-      "•»•      y%j. 

Slie  put  down  her  dishes 
why?" 

..l"^?"  u'  "'*^'  "^  »»««  thinkin'  it  over     If. 
«il  nght  — but  it  ain't  atnitrht     tu  * 

o;  m^,  but  the,'«  il:r^:;     SX^a  W  :   w' 

t),-"7fr^  'r  •**"  «^  ^"«'''»  to  ««.  Lanr.     Manv '. 
the  dollar  Senator  Dan—"  '■^'•'7.     Many  s 

"I  know  all  about 'that.     IVotrifl^t^       i     • 

pill"  ^'  ""  '"''"'"  ^^  '^''^'''t  ««t  Flanagan', 

;;Sore?    No,  I '„>  dang  glad  I  did  n't  get  it." 
What's  come  over  yuh,  then?"         ^ 

-ght  not  have  to  workso  htd  f^L  "^  ^  *^»*  «»•« 
ing  to  take  his  life  i-T,t«  >,•  ,'"™-     He  was  want- 

against  his  p':;;;^  ht  e  rid  ^fr^r;  *"  *""» 
tions.  So  much  she  undei  tiS  a  Utr^'T 
ous  .nstinct,  instantly,  though  sL  dfd  LT  tu^e  St 


HIS  MOTHER 


W 


of  understanding  it  himself.  He  had  evidently  been 
influenced  by  some  one.  She  set  herself  to  find  out  who 
it  was. 

She  asked:     "Are  yuh  goin'  out  to-night?" 

He  accepted  the  question  with  relief.  "  I  thought  I 
would  —  a  little  while.  I  '11  be  back  early."  He  sat 
with  his  elbows  on  the  table.  "  I  promised  I  'd  see 
■ome  one." 

She  turned  her  back,  craftily,  before  she  asked: 
"  Can't  yuh  bring  him  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  very  easy,"  he  said.     "  It 's  a  girl." 

He  tried  to  give  it  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  but  he 
did  not  succeed.  She  tried  to  receive  it  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  manner,  and  she  was  more  successful.  She  kept 
her  back  to  him  and  continued  with  her  work.  She 
glanced  at  the  shawl  with  her  lips  tightened.  A 
girl  I 

It  was  her  conviction  that  every  girl  in  the  town  wag 
a  designing  hypocrite  who  was  bent  on  flattering  Larry 
into  marrying  her  so  that  she  might  not  have  to  work 
for  a  living.  Not  one  of  the  whole  useless  set  would 
know  how  to  cook  for  him.  Not  one  would  be  able  to 
do  anything  but  spend  his  wages  in  clothes  for  herself, 
and  ruin  his  digestion  with  stuflf  bought  at  delicatessen 
counters,  and  with  her  folly  and  extravagance  worry 
him  to  death. 

It  is  a  mortifying  thing  to  raise  a  boy  to  the  lovable 
helplessness  of  manhood  only  to  have  him  taken  advan- 
tage of  by  one  of  your  own  sex.  She  said  angrily. 
"  Are  y'  ashamed  to  show  her  ? " 


!'       * 


i  H 


86 


HIS  MOTHER 


table,  he  -talked  !„  „  ,.e  ft    'Z'  ""P"^  '-»  th^ 
window.  ''°'"  "^n"  "d  «at  down  at  the 

e.4t  2;ctrw7„!';  t" "--'  '^-  ^^^  ^^  had 

•       commitfed,  in  his  own  mind  1       .  •     '^  ***"  "'^-^jr 
Pe-t  of  hi,  death  itself  S  h  "".rr'"^-     ^''^  P«« 
«»"«  to  her;  and  ye    thThardr^'^  '"/"  "^^  ^«'«^<'J- 
I'-ttle  trembling  of  her  h!nH         u*^  "^  ^"^  ^'««'  «d  « 

was  going  to  marrvl     SK  ,  .''^  '«"•  emotion.     Ho 

with  a  strange  Tman- ^7"  ?""  '"  "'"'-  W 
gether.  "       '^  ^« ''"^  ""^  desert  her  alt<>. 

She  continiied  her  work   all  th.  •        .. 

her,  miserable,  but  bearing  .^1        ^"^  "^  ''  *f°'"'  ^om 

did  not  even  ask  him  wio  the    T""  ^•""'''^-     ^^e 

-"tter  n,ho  it  was?     st  t  d.ef     ?"     ^^'"^  '^''J  '' 

m^nedly.     «  She  '11  not  find  t    T  ^''  ^'''^"'^  ^^'^^ 

--es,»shep«,„.iJtr!e,'-:i^  ''^^  "'"=»  «»■« 

what  it  would  be  like  befo"  ,T,        7'."^  ""  "P''"'""  of 

"harge  of  it.     And  wht  LVrA^;;'  J"*'  "^^  '""^  '» 

0"t,  she  attacked  the  lit"le  f"nt  '"'''  ""''  ^"»° 

thought -arranging  the  folf      T™  '"*  ^'^^  """e 

r-'  Patching,^„'d  ^c^leS^;,;:  deTiJ""  •"^^'"■"'  *" 

cnmson  plush  »  with  a  p,„V      u  *'""l"™"e8  of  her 


HIS  MOTHER 


Vt 


chair  that  had  lo«t  a  ca»ter.  "  They  '11  he  gettin'  new," 
she  prophesied.  She  henwif  had  clung  to  the  old,  even 
when  Lariy  had  wished  to  be  rid  of  them.  She  wa»  old 
herself.  Well,  ho  would  soon  learn  whether  the  new 
was  better!  She  shook  her  head  prophetically.  He 
would  soon  learn  whether  the  new  was  better. 


n 

That  mood  passed,  and  a  more  characteristic  one  suc- 
ceeded it. 

She  told  herself  that  the  girl  would  bo  some  "  gum- 
chewin'  young  gad-about  with  no  more  than  brains 
enough  to  dress  herself  like  a  fool."  A  shop-girl,  no 
doubt  —  a  shop-girl  that  carried  all  her  wages  on  her 
back  and  walked  with  a  wiggle!  There  were  no  girls, 
no  more,  like  the  girls  of  her  day.  Never  a  one.  Now, 
they  went  to  work  in  offices  instead  of  staying  home 
and  learning  the  things  a  girl  ought  to  know.  They 
made  poor  wives  and  worse  mothers.  They  were  half 
of  them  sickly  and  all  of  them  silly.  They  knew  no 
more  about  their  proper  business  in  life  than  a  peacock 
knows  about  hatching  duck's  eggs. 

She  muttered  and  grumbled  it  over  and  over  while 
she  dressed  — angry  at  herself  now,  because  she  had 
dared  Larry  to  bring  the  girl.  What  could  she  say  to 
the  fool  creature  ?  Let  him  marry  her  and  go  ofF  with 
her  out  of  this.  She  could  take  care  of  herself  —  and 
that 's  all  she  would  do.  She  did  n't  want  to  see  the 
girl.  Why  should  she?  Bret  the  young  snip.  Who 
wanted  to  listen  to  her  cackle?    If  Larry  liked  it,  let 


88 


HIS  MOTHEB 

him  take  it  and  live  with  it  There  was 
for  tastes.  Larry  1  Of  aU  boys  in  the 
live  and  leam.     live  and  learn. 


accounting^ 
world  I    Well, 

i  leam. 

one  plumped  herself  down  in  her  rooking^hair  by 
the  wmdow  and  waited  indignantly  for  them  to  coma 
She  looked  very  sour,  very  stiff  and  forbidding.  Hard 
work  had  kept  her  thin  and  angular.  She  snorted  and 
muttered  to  herself.  And  she  was  still  in  this  frame 
of  mind  when  the  arrival  of  Larry  and  his  "girl" 
"Xfthi^;«"  '^'  ^-^  "^ow'th.,"  shel. 
There  entered  a  meekly  dressed  young  woman,  about 

and  "^  T."  f '  "^''  "  ""*'  ^*^  '^  Pl"^-  P«i«  face 
and  a  subdued  manner.     "  Miss  McCarty,"  La^  intro- 

f"^  r,  '''',nf  """^  «"'"«-'"'*  apprehensiva 
i  ^.t^  "f'  ^"^  ^^S'"'  «a»d  afterward,  "I 
thought  twas  a  joke  he  was  piayin'.  She  was  notHn'  at 
a^l  to  look  at.  An'  old  enough  to  marry  two  of  him  t ") 
He  did  not  notice  how  his  mother  received  Miss  ul 

tl7,f'^^■  ""'  I  '^°'^  '''^"'  ^°^  Miss  McCarty 
wou^dbeunpressed  And  the  mother  received  her  as  I 
nva  who,  at  first  sight,  disproved  all  the  formidable  rl 
ports  concerning  her;  and  Miss  McCarty  showed  no 
more^unpressron  than  is  indicated  by  the  deepening  of 

She  had  a  broad,  flat  forehead ;  and  her  eyes  were  set 
under  It,  far  apart  and  colorless,  with  a  qufet  de  ^d- 
ency  of  expression     Her  mouth  had  the'same  flalss 

of  a  woman  who  has  a  mind  of  her  own.    When  she  sat 


HIS  MOTHEB 


39 

hands, 


down  she  folded  in  her  lap  a.  pair  of  immaculate 
large,  firm,  very  white,  and  evidently  very  capable. 
Her  physical  largeness  was  obviously  of  the  same  quality 
of  graceful  strength. 

"  Well,  now  I  "  Mrs.  Regan  said,  at  last.  "  Will  yuh 
tell  me  somethin'  ?  Wherever  did  yuh  meet  ? "  Her 
excitement  gave  her  voice  the  shrillness  that  made  her 
sound  shrewish  to  those  who  did  not  know  her. 

"  Down-town,"  Larry  answered,  with  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  girl. 

"  Do  yuh  work  ?  "  the  mother  asked  her. 
"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  've  always  worked."    And 
she  spoke  in  the  voice  that  had  glamored  Larry. 

It  was  not  the  voice  of  a  dialect;  it  was  not  even 
markedly  the  plaintive  intonation  of  the  Celt     It  was 
a  rich  full  breathing  of  deepened  vowels  and  blurred 
consonants  that  put  a  sort  of  pastoral  gentleness  and 
charm  on  every  word  —  as  soft  as  an  Irish  mist  on  the 
green  undulations  of  an  Irish  landscape. 
"  What  do  yuh  do  ? "  Mrs.  Eegan  demanded. 
Larry  answered  for  her :     "  She 's  a  manicurist." 
"A  —    What 's  that ? »  she  cried,  annoyed  because 
the  girl  had  an  appearance  of  ignoring  her. 

Larry  laughed  nervously.  It  was  evident  that  Miss 
McCarty  did  not  understand  the  brusk  kindliness  of 
his  mother's  inquiries  "  Never  mind  what  it  is,"  he 
said.     "  What  diffrence  does  it  make? " 

Mrs.  Eegan  contained  herself  by  folding  her  arms  on 
her  pride.  "  True  enough,"  she  said.  "  What  diff- 
rence?   'Tis  none  o' my  bus'ness.    None  at  all,"    And 


,1  :-*    as 


40 


HIS  MOTHER 


M: 


with  that  she  assumed  an  attitude  of  silent  self-suppres- 
sion that  was  comical  —  m  well  as  tragic. 

"  It  only  took  us  twenty  minutes  to  get  down  to  Four- 
teenth Street  from  a  Hundred  an'  Third,"  Larry  told 
her. 

"  Did  it,"  she  said,  shortly. 
"  Lots  o'  flats  t»  rent  up  there." 
She  said  nothing. 
"  Better  air,  too." 

With  one  hand  supporting  an  elbow,  she  fingered  her 
lips  as  if  she  were  fingering  a  padlock  on  them.  Miss 
MoCarty  was  very  reposedly  looking  aside  out  of  the 
window.     Larry  tried  to  make  talk. 

The  end  of  it  came  when  the  girl,  having  carried  on 
five  minutes'  futile  conversation  with  him  — about 
flats,  comparative  rents,  and  the  possible  construction 
of  more  subways  —  rose  placidly  to  say  good  night ;  and 
Mrs.  E^an  awoke,  too  late,  to  the  inhospitality  of  her 
behavior, 

"  Yuh  're  never  goin'  so  soon !  "  she  cried.  "  Wait  a 
bit.  Have  a  cup  o'  tea  now."  The  girl  refused  firmly, 
but  Mrs.  Eegan  hurried  out  to  the  kitchen  to  put  on  the 
kettle  and  opMi  the  cake  box.  She  heard  Larry  call  out 
something  which  she  did  not  understand.  And  when 
she  returned  with  her  pewter  cake-basket  and  her  tray 
of  cups,  the  room  was  empty. 

They  had  gone. 

She  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  thumped  the  cake  into 
the  box,  banged  the  basket  down  on  the  table,  and 
snatched  the  kettle  from  the  stove.    «  There  I  "  she  said. 


HIS  MOTHER  4^ 

"  Now  I  "    And  seating  herself  in  the  chair  by  the  fire- 
escape  window  she  began  to  weep. 

She  had  done  it.  She  had  quarreled  with  them. 
Ihe  girl  would  take  Larry  away  from  her.  It  was  the 
end  of  everything! 


m 


Lariy  had  first  seen  Miss 


I  McCarty  in  a  down-town 

not 

he  had  seen  her,  he  might  have  backed  , 


barber  shop  —  and  if  he 


had  not  i 


;  up  his  hat  before 


out  of  the  place; 
nearest 


As  ,t  was,  he  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  chai>  nearest 
her  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  she  had  intruded 
tibe  dli"  '*■  ""*'  "manicuring  at  a  little  table  near 

"Hair  cut,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  undertone,  and  felt 
like  a  fool  when  the  barber  swathed  him  in  striped  calico 
and  tucked  it  in  around  his  neck.    It  was  no  position 

the  best  of  circumstances  haircutting  was  to  Larrv  an 
operation  of  personal  beautification  that  was  to  be  rushed 
through  with  a  scornful  lack  of  attention;  he  would 
scarcely  look  at  himself  in  the  glass  until  he  could  do 
It  ^one  and  unashamed,  and  curse  the  barber  who  had 
made  the  parting  an  inch  too  high  on  his  head.  And 
now  when  his  hair  had  been  ruffled  up  unbecomingly, 
he  kept  dartm„  irritated  glances  at  her  out  of  the 
comer  of  his  eye,  to  see  that  she  was  not  staring  at 

She  was  polishing  the  finger-nails  of  a  man  who  had 
his  back  to  Larry,  so  that  Larr^  could  not  see  his  face. 


ii 


'      4 


4S 


HIS  MOTHER 


JL!t%  T"^  ^°'  """  '°  '^  ^*''-  ^0*  «»«t  "he  w« 
fought  her  mere^  plain  looking,  with  a  nose  too  large. 
What  he  saw  m  her  face  was  the  evidence  that  her  Z- 
tomer  was  annoymg  her;  and  as  Lariy  watched  her,  he 
added  bs  :mtated  embarrassment  about  his  own  toilet 
cl'ld  UlTT  °^'!^™'*"'-«d  contempt  for  the  man  who 
SdHsti?"'' '"  '  '-''-'  ^"^'  -^^«  -^  ~ 

wavtd^'^"  fr^  ^"^^  ^''^  around-first  this 
Srad         H  T  "*  '''y-^'^  the  masterful  hand  of 

^rl  s  redden«l  ears  and,  frigid  haughtiness.  The  man 
was  leaning  forward  on  one  elbow,  a  roU  of  flesh  bul- 
g.g  above  h:s  collar.  Lany's  slanted  eye  fi.ed  on  It 
fat  roll  malevolently  for  a  moment  before  the  barber 
-^.g  him  around  again.  And  when  he  was  shei^ 
and  sleeked  down  with  bay  rum  and  out  of  the  cha!r 

r—LJ""'':'  '"•  "^^  "^'-^'^  ^«  «y-  on  tl^^ 
remembered  neck-just  as  the  girl,  dropping  her 
chamois  pad,  looked  up  appealingly  a't  theLlr  Z 
u  for  aid  agamst  insult 

the^'l'*T!^  ^"T"^'  ^'"^^  ^"  ^eers  in  between 

S  i  ^f  "^'^^'"^  ^^  '^'^'  ^i'h  the  other.  The 
tightened  collar  prevented  any  but  a  guttural,  choked 
outery  Larry  jerked  him  clear  of  the  table  ^nd  pro- 
ps led  him  swiftly  toward  the  screen  door,  shoved  him 
through  that,  ran  him  across  the  sidewalk,  and  the,^ 
bumping  him  behind  with  a  bent  knee,  sent  him  sp/a^ 


HIS  MOTHER  4, 

ner  a,d  hurried  ba'ek  "I  woft"  ^^'  ^^^^^  «  ~- 

^aguely  resentful  ona  T/  1,  ^o"ght  -  except  a 
face,  in  City  HaU  Park  he  w  ''  "''  '^''  ^""^^  *» 
seen  lev  before.  S«  !  "°'  '"'^  ^^«'^  J'e  had 
barraased:  «?Jt  :,:f  \<J"^*«  ^'^'^'y  and  unen.- 
bern.e?»        ''"'"*  *°  *t«°i  you.    Don't  you  remen,- 

Pal'tl^ Shetld  ;irL-J  ;«  '^^V^*  ^ay  it  flip, 
he.  and  ,  ,^        ^S  Z^Zt:^'  "'-  '' 

portance;  they  pTrti  at  I  ''/'''^/"*''"«^  °^  "''7  '"'- 
Place,  wik  anSand  I,e  L  t  "^'•"  «  ^'^^ 
back  to  his  own  etatil  oTthe'  mr/7  "^  '"''  ""^ 
at  Brooklyn  Bridire  befrl  T  ^^^''"^  ^'«^ated 

M.uld  like  to  see  her^t  Tr^-^  **"  ^"^  *'"''  i« 
opportunity.  "^'^  "^"^  '"''^  »°t  provided  the 

opp^rteZtbeTjo;:  "e^nZ  ^^^-.  *°  ^^ 
to  come  out  for  luncheon  '  ""''  ''"^  ^"^  ^^^ 

^^^'^^f^  --^"-  -^e  that  pr. 
-n  must  accepTthe  yCriraT  "Tht  ^'^  ^°""^ 
a^tbe  boys  say  .hen  thVU:".,ti;St 


44 


HIS  MOTHER 


hmd  them -until  the  first  trial  of  acquaintance  has 
been  proven.     Then,  if  the  interest  becomes  serious,  mu- 
tual confidences  are  naturally  exchanged,  the  right  to 
receive  them  having  been  established.    It  was  for  this 
reason  that  even  after  Larry  and  she  had  gone  to  the 
theaters  together,  sat  in  the  parks,  and  patronized  the 
museums  of  art  and  of  natural  history  _  which  a 
thoughtful  public  has  erected  for  the  use  of  New  York 
lovers  who  need  sheltered  benches  on  wet  Sunday  after- 
noons _  he  knew  as  little  about  her  past,  her  parentage 
and  the  private  circumstances  of  her  life  as  she  knew 
about  his.    She  remained  placid,  uncoquettish  and  stiU 
reserved  T^th  the  reserve  of  a  woman  whose  voice  was 
not  made  for  chatter.     That  voice  haunted  him.    He 
heard  it  even  in  the  midst  of  the  crashed  metallic  tin- 
klings  of  the  linotypes. 

Thai,  one  evening,  when  he  called  upon  her  by  ap- 
pointment to  take  her  to  the  theater,  she  did  not  meTt 
him  at  the  door  of  the  flat-house;  and  he  ascended  to 
the  top  floor  apartment  to  find  her  with  a  headache  and 
unwillmg  to  go  out.  She  was  sharing  the  flat  with  two 
inends  -  one  a  head  waitress  in  a  daiiy  restaurant,  the 
other  a  black-haired  little  Socialist  who  was  trying  to 

Store  where  she  worked.  And  it  was  here  that  Larry 
Wan  to  see  things  diffrent,"  as  he  told  his  mother,  7n 
the  matter  of  politics.  Here,  too,  he  got  another  m- 
pression  of  Miss  McCarty,  from  the  deference  which 
her  two  room  mates  showed  her  and  the  air  of  right  with 
which  she  accepted  it- to  say  nothing  of  the  |racefll 


HIS  MOTHER  45 

dignity  of  the  way  in  which  she  reclined  upon  a  shabby 
comer  couch  «.d  listened  to  the  a^ment  betweek 
i^riy  and  the  Socialist 

She  gave  him  an  impression  not  only  of  superior  ex- 
perience and  superior  age,  but  even  of  superior  culture: 
and  when  he  left  her  that  night  he  had  an  uneasy  sus^ 
picion  that  she  was,  perhaps,  «  above  "  him. 

He  wa.  ambitious.  He  was  also  proud  -  as  proud 
as  his  mother.    And  when  he  came  to  ask  the  girl  to  call 

wje  a  defiance  She  accepted  it -after  a  moment's 
reflection  -  with  some  of  that  feminine,  Old-World  dig- 
mty  that  refuses  to  recognize  a  lover  until  he  makes  his 
tormal  declaration. 

J^J'H  ^^l^T^y  *''*  ^a'^ed  her  outwardly  un- 
2-ed.  through  the  interview  with  Mrs.  Regan;  and  it 
was  this  dignity  that  sat  so  stiff  upon  her  as  she  jour- 
neyed back  to  One  Hundred  and  Third  Street  with 
l^rry  in  the  roaring  subway,  after  she  had  refused 
Mrs.Eegan^,cupoftea.  There  was  nothing  to  say; 
the_no.se  about  them,  in  any  case,  prevented  them  from 
ZJ  ''^^^"'S' ""-J  ^^  waited  until  they  were  in 
thestreet  before  he  even  asked  when  he  might  see  her 

She  replied  calmly :  «  I  don't  know  " 

ni^hU'"   ^°"   °°°"   *""*"   *''"   ^^"'^'   *°-"'°"aJ' 

"  Ifo,  thank  you,"  she  said. 
"Why?" 

Her  manner  replied  that  she  did  not  feel  he  had  any 


•M 


HIS  MOTHER 


claUn  upon  her  that  would  justify  the  > 


i~,i,^  Z    ■  7"  , —  """'"  J  "'"'"7  we  question.    She 
looked  straight  ahead  of  her  in  silence. 

of  a  W  w?  ^^  ''^"  ?"  ••"  '^'*  P°*''«^  ^'*''  the  air 
of  a  boy  who  has  been  insulted  and  who  puts  away  his 
fiste  temporarily  until  he  can  make  sure  It  thj  nsu 
was  intended.     He  asked-     "Dnr.'*  „.. 
come  to  see  ;  ou  ? »  "  ^°"  """'  '"^  *° 

''Na''*^'"^  °°''"  "''^  "'**'  '"  •«"  «'"<«tl'««t  voice. 

Larry  took  her  to  her  door  without  another  word. 

^^^topped  on  the  pavement.     «  Good  night,"  he  chat 

hrst  step.        Good-by,"  she  replied  cheerfully;  and  it 
wa^^a  cheerfulness  that  only  made  finality  so^d  more 

tb«^"^r'^^'?""*^  "^^  *^™^<l  "W.   And  to  match 
the  finaluy  m  her  cheerfulness,  there  was,  in  hirnod 


IV 


Mrs   Eegan,  when  he  returned  to  the  flat,  had  ao- 
parently  gone  to  bed,  but  after  he  was  in  bed  h^sS 

ZTZI\1  """  "  '^'  ""«  ^'^-^  -rapper-;  a 
hgH  to  make  her  peace  with  him;and  he  prZded  that 
he  was  asleep,  ly,ng  very  .ilffly  on  his  back  with  his  eyl 

bir;.  I  -""^  "°*'°«  ^°'  ^«'  to  do  but  to  go 
back  to  her  misery  a.d  lie  awake  with  it,  staring  ft 


HIS  MOTHEE  47 

h.?'^*"  ,*f*  ''"  ■"  '''""'^  "  ^*"  ^°'°«'  to  her.     She 
h.d  quarreled  with  Larry.     Oh,  dear  I     Oh,  dear  I 
When  he  c«ne  to  his  breakfast,  next  njoming,  ho 

seemed   to  be   unchanged.    He  ate  hig   breakfast- 

aitar  sacrifice -and  he  spoke  to  her  in  a  yoice  that 
was  only  too  well  contn>lled.    But  he  did  not  ml  he 
anxious  penitent  glances,  and  when  he  went  awryl  h^s 
ZLd    1  '"  '"  "  ""'"'PP^  "  -^-^  -  -7  that  ht 
Z      n^-^-Jd  he  leaving  her.     It  was  all  over. 

.er  of  Sr  W     '^'  •''°^-''-^%.  a  lavish  din- 
Mr  of  stuffed  heart  and  mashed  potatoes;  and  he  came 

Jorsi:::'"V''"i:"'''  ***  ~*  ^*  -^^^  -^^^  «»•«  -i 

ShtT),  ^^"'\*"""«*°"''^l'«™lf-  That 
night,  to  her  surprise,  he  did  not  go  out:  he  read  his 

newspaper  and  re-read  it  and  read  ifagain  untJu  Jl 

X  wilSr,^''*-'^  "■"  -adingVsame  IZ 
tw^ce  without  knowing  it.  She  watched  him --but 
witho^^gathenng  any  idea  of  what  was  going  ont 

And  she  watched  him  all  next  day,  which  was  Sun 

aSnr  t,"°''"**''''"«  ^'^  laiuster  Zd,  ;°" 
aWmindedness  and  his  gentleness  toward  he  sel^ 
He  did  not  go  out;  he  sat  gloomily  indoors;  and  when 
he  proposed  a  street-car  ride  in  the  cool  of  ^e  Tven 
;Lef  ^^"  ^*'  '^'  '-  ^  -orsefultrTf 
At  last,  when  she  could  bear  it  no  longer,  she  asked: 


'11 


^  HIS  MOTHER 

"  Wh»t  '•  become  o'  the  girl  that  jmh  don't  take  her  f " 
"  Her."  he  said  bitterly.     "  We  're  not  good  enough 
iet  her." 
"  An'  why  not ! "  she  cried. 
"I  don'  know,"  he  answered,  in  a  tone  hard  and 
even.     "  An'  I  don't  care." 

"  There  now  I "  Mrs.  Began  addressed  herself  aloud. 
"What  d'  yuh  think  o'  that?"  She  stared  at  him, 
turning  in  her  seat,  with  such  an  expression  of  be- 
wilderment that  he  asked  sourly:  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter!" 

"  Nothin',"  she  said,  collecting  herself.  "  Nothin' 
at  all."  I 

But  throughout  the  silence  in  which  they  finished 
their  car-ride,  she  kept  saying  to  herself  in  her 
thoughts:  "What  d'  yuh  think  o'  that?  An'  me 
thinkm'  he  waa  mad  at  me  an'  goin'  to  leave  me  fer 

the  girl What  d'  yuh  tJiink  o'  that?    The  likes 

0  her  I  Tha  likes  o'  her  to  be  puttin'  him  down  I  Him 
—  that  was  worth  a  dozen  of  her.  It's  enough  to 
make  the  saints  in  heaven—  Glory  be  to  Peter  I 
What  d'  yuh  think  o'  that? "  Amazement  and  indig- 
nation  alternated  with  amazement  and  relief.  She 
was  not  going  to  lose  Larry- but  the  likes  of  herl 
Not  good  enough  for  her.  Did  any  one  ever  hear  any 
thing  to  equal  ",at  ?  The  fool  of  a  girl !  What  were 
they  coming  to  nowadays  — the  girls- any  way? 
She  could  have  chuckled  with  contempt  for  them,  if  it 
had  not  been  that  Lany  would  have  heard.  Larry  was 
evidently  in  no  frame  of  mind  to  hear  chuckles. 


HIS  MOTHER 


49 


He  continued  in  .  mood -or  rather  in  and  out  of 

Tt^^r^.    f"  T"""**  '^'^  '•"»  »>«•'  t'«dition. 
had  developed  in  ite  place  a  worried  indige.tion  that 

1U8  home,  she  had  found  them  "beneath"  her  ^d 
one  night  he  would  bring  his  mother  home  the  X 

ie  would  be  queruloMs  and  sharp,  and  handle  the 
fu^ature  as  if  he  could  scarce!;'  restrahih  Jelf 
'rSs  bZ7/'-?'  "^^  "''"'°^-  He  would  Tme 
food,  and  after  his  e«gs  and  coffee,  he  would  be  readv 
o  boil  over  with  ill-temper  at  a  ;ord.     He  was^ck 

to  a  atiii^"".^'-  '^  p'°p-'-«  thar,Jrrv: 

nTnlnf  V         '1''"'=  '"''^  *^«  P^'P^'ol  found  him 
m  one  of  his  proud  moods  and  made  hiiTfuriou^     sZ 


1 


50 


HIS  MOTHER 


Wlttt  '•  wrong  with  yuh  I  If  yuk  wut  the  girl,  why 
don't  yuh  go  get  hwf  God  give  her  joy  o'  yuhl 
Yuh  're  wor«e  'n  a  bear  with  a  sore  ear !  " 
^^  "What'ro  you  Ulkin'  about!"  He  glared  at  her. 
"  Who  laid  I  wanted  her  f  I  'm  done  with  her  —  and 
she  knows  it  1  I  would  n't  look  at  her  if  ahe— "  He 
choked  wrathf  uUy. 

"Well,  then,"  she  complained,  "what  is  it? 
What  'b  the  matter  !    I  can  do  nothin'  with  yuh." 

"  Who  asked  you  to  f  Leave  me  alone.  I  'm  all 
right  Only  you  're  always  makin'  out  I  'm  —  she  — 
as  if  I  was  gone  nutty  abo^t  her.  I  don't  care  a  dam 
about  her.  I  'm  as  good  'a  she  is.  If  she  thinks  we 
am't,  that '»  her  lookout  She  can't  bother  me  fer  a 
minute ! " 

"Aoh,"  Mrs.  Regan  said,  "I  dunno  what  yuh 're 
talkin'  about  I  've  said  nothin'  about  yuh  bein'  nutty 
—  though.  Lord  knows,  y'  act  like  it" 

He  swallowed  the  insult  — turned  suddenly  dis- 
pirited —  and  they  let  the  quarrel  lapse  into  a  worried 
gloom  until  some  fresh  misunderstanding  should  arouse 
it  again. 

It  summed  up  for  her,  before  long,  into  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  boy  was  ill,  that  he  was  unhappy,  that  he 
was  eating  out  his  heart,  and  ruining  his  digestion, 
because  of  a  fool  of  a  giri  with  whom  he  had  quarreled. 
"They  neither  o'  them  've  got  sense  enough  to  know 
what  they  want  I  Some  one  ought  to  take  an'  bump 
their  heads  together  fer  them.  Drat  them  both! 
They  'U  drive  me  out  o'  me  wits.  ...  If  I  had  her    - 


HIS  MOTHEB 


liere,  now,  I'd  giro  her.  Ulkia 
aer  dyin'  d«y  *  " 


61 


to  abe  'd  not  ferget  to 


told  Jr^  oftie^,  t""H  r'  '"^  ''""^  Street,  ,he 

TH.d  s^f  ''^::^^^,  te«;,fr'i,:"' 

thesubway.  First  block  ewt."  hI  Zd  «  T  ?  V 
w-at  you  to  be  foolin'  around  tbe«  I  m  ,  J  ''""^ 
wo  were— "     An,?  .1,-         "" '"we.     it  11  look  as  if 

in  repose  it  took  a  ivnr^^       •  l,    ,  "  ""*  ''*« 

brows'^He  h^d  .0:1^1,11^^'"""  ^""^  «^«- 
he  was  as  pathetic  to  her  as  if  h«  t  "".  ''\"'^''  *»«" 
could  not  endure  it.  "ItjinLT^'^''^-  ^^' 
between  them,"  she  told  herser^t"' m""^  "'""« 
bad.  I  'd  like  to  see  that  ^7  i)rat  hi"  I M  '^  " 
to  her  straight"  -t^ratlier!     I'd  put  it 


6S 


HIS  MOTHER 


The  next  time  she  called  in  One  Hundred  and  Third 
Street  she  examined  the  bells  of  all  the  apartment 
nouses  in  the  block,  and  when  she  came  to  "  McCarty  " 
she  muttered:  "  There  y' are,  are  yuh ?  If  I  thought 
yuh  were  up  there  now  —  but  I  s'pose  yuh  're  at  work.' 
The  devil  take  yuL  Do  yuh  go  out  nights,  I  wonder. 
Huh  I  I  see  meself  1  I  'd  look  nice!  "  And  turning 
her  back  resolutely,  she  walked  oflf  with  her  chin  up. 

Naturally,  she  said  nothing  to  Larry  of  that  visit,  and 
he  had  no  suspicion  of  her  duplicity  when  she  went  out 
on  the  following  Saturday  evening  to  confession  —  it 
being  the  eve  of  the  first  Sunday  of  the  month  — and 
took  the  subway  north.  "I'll  tell  no  lies,"  she  as- 
sured herself,  "  but  I  'd  better  see  her  first  —  an'  con- 
fess aff«r.»  And  when  Miss  McCarty,  alone  in  the 
flat,  received  her  with  a  well-controlled  but  evident  sur- 
prise, she  took  the  upper  hand  in  a  manner  of  self-justi- 
fication, and  demanded:  "Now  then  1  What  is  it  all 
about?  Tell  me  that,  will  yuh?  What 's  wrong  be- 
tween yuh?  Why  have  yuh  thrown  down  the  poor 
boy  ? "  ^ 

Miss  McCarty  had,  of  course,  "  thrown  him  down" 
because  she  was  too  proud  to  intrude  upon  any  family 
that  did  not  welcome  her,  and  Mrs.  Regan,  by  her  man- 
ner at  that  first  meeting,  had  most  obviously  intended 
her  to  understand  that  she  was  not  welcome. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ? "  she  asked,  cahnly. 

Mrs.  R^n  sat  down  while  she  was  replying  that  she 
could  not  do  so,  that  Larry  thought  she  was  at  church, 
that  she  must  hurry  away,  that  he  was  ill,  that  he  was 


68 


HIS  MOTHER 

Miss  Mer«rt^  T  '"^''^  °°*'"'"'  of  it  I  " 

delicarel/tTcou^r   '"  ^^^^''^'^   ''^  "^^^^^  - 

kindly,  miss  '  wh^Tl  ^       ^°  ""^    ""^  '  ^hank  yuh 
look      Faith  i5  IZu  i'^'  ^^  sot  le«s  sense  than  yuh 

w,  ^^dir:eti:rjHtt^^^^T'f ' 

did  n't  ?  There  he  is  rt  .,?""'"  ^'"'*  ^«  «"d  er 
mother-  tuS^a2n~V  '^  ^"''  ^"^^  ^«  «"»•'- 

Pered  there ',.^,S  t'LT^~r'  *^'"  '«'<^  *- 
be  made  miseraWersurHi?"^  ^"^  ^«  "»  of  us  to 
to  yerself,  girf  J  »   ^  '""^"''''^  "°°'«''«« »     Take  shame 

to  doT"'  "~  '''  ^'^  """^'^  -"  -hat  do  you  want  me 

"ifarry  him  I     Marry  him    an'   W'»   l. 
peace  in  the  world      T  L'f  il  ,         '"''**  «°°»» 

don't  care.     Thie's  Lv      ,     Z  '"'"*  y'  "'«'  "»»'  I 
Take  him  an'  lITone  t UT   n''  ""r  ^''"^'''  ^^• 
"  Y.«,"  she  said,  lufd   •  "  ll^K'^'' ' " 

"  Where  are  yuh  f™l  ^  ^  ''*"  <'°«1^-" 

„  ^"f  f"'"''  annyway?" 

I  m  from  Dublin.     I  went  t/r^^j 
"•aid.    I  came  here  as  «  ITvelTn^     "  "'  "  '"'^^^ 
a  travelmg^mpanion  —  and 


a; 


64 

did  n't  like 


HIS  MOTHER 


I  took  u;.  manicuring  because  I  could 
ao  mat  —  ana  couldn't  do  anything  else." 

"  Have  yuh  no  relatives  ?    Are  y'  all  alone  here  ? " 
"  Yes.     All  alone  —  except  for  the  girl  friends  I  've 
made." 

"  There  now,"  Mrs.  Began  relented.  "  He  '11  make 
y'  a  good  husband.  He 's  the  best  boy  in  the  worid." 
And  she  launched  out  in  a  mother's  eulogy  of  him. 
''  Yuh  're  a  fine,  big,  healthy-lookin'  girl,"  she  ended. 
"  Yuh  '11  be  happy  together,  I  must  get  back  now." 
She  rose  to  go.  "Don't  teU  him  I've  been  here." 
She  paused,  frowning.     ;'  How  '11  I " 

Miss  McCarty  kissed  her,  "I'll  write  to  him. 
Don't  worry  about  that  Let  me  take  you  to  the  sub- 
way." 

"I  will  not,"  Mrs.  Eegan  replied.  "I'm  not  so 
old  I  can't  walk  alone.    Qood-by  to  yuL" 

And  when  Lany,  on  the  following  Monday,  had  re- 
ceived his  letter  and  had  gone  out  (rather  sulkily,  but 
in  his  best  clothes),  t»  reply  to  it  in  person,  Mrs.  Eegan 
sat  down  by  her  window  with  an  exclamation  that  was 
between  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  and  a  grunt  of  disgust. 
"  There  y'  are,"  she  told  herself.  "  That 's  what  it  is 
to  b^  a  mother.  'Tain't  only  that  yuh  can't  keep  yer 
boy,  but  if  yuh  try  it,  y'  end  by  goin'  down  on  yer  bare 
knees  to  the  girl  to  many  him.  A  nice  thing  to  have 
to  be  doin'!  A  nice  thing!"  She  grumbled  indig- 
nantly. "Well,"  she  said,  "that's  what  it  is  to  be 
a  woman  an'  have  to  be  lookin'  after  the  men  aU  yer 


HIS  MOTHER  55 

life— an'  managin'  them  — an'  feedin'  fl,«™  . 

seein'  they're  ken'  f,,11  .„'  u  ^      them  — an' 

I'd  been  w/  »   ^'^P^'     ^«'*'  I  'i"*  't 

Sh«  !r\u     ?     "^  '"**'*•     'T  """"t  be  an  easy  life  " 
She  shook  her  head  over  it.     "  I  .'do„  t  ,„  ^7^        , 


•t: " 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART 


i 


INTHEMATTEEOFART 


a  violently  irZZiToir^'''f°^^~^'*^ 

test.  ThechauCr  ho;?L;^';'^r"«^''^P'°■ 
«l.ook  his  head  a«aL  1^:  !>  "*'  """^  "''^''«<1.  ""d 
end  is  near.  ThT^aL  bJide  h""":  "'-^  ^^  *^*  *^« 
from  a  cigar  impair  J^Ti"  ^  ^'^'  ^"^"^  ^^e  ash 
of  the  road  ahead,  now  on^JJ  '  "^f,""'^  °"  *J»«  tu™ 
were  held  in  single  fi?  a wr""  "^  ''"^'  •*'^«"  «""* 

Behind  them  a  Z  in  ^  ^  ^  '^'''  ^"^  "  ^«»<»- 
true  bucolic  stolidiirJ^hTtt  .IT^r"'  '^'""'^  ''''^ 
her,  the  old  apple  t^tjfi^f*^"'^-  ^^^^^ 
"onless,  as  itZeyZ'iTl^  ^  '^^''^'  «*°^  "»°- 
Bkeletoned  dance  of  dea^  t^""  '^"""^P'^  ^  «ome 
torted,  their  bare  twi«  *   \  ^^"""^^  ^^^^  con- 

'•*  a  little  in  t^eTuSgh,     "'  "  "•^'"^'  ««»  ^-- 
The  chauffeur  Dnll«w?  .  i__ 


60 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  AST 


of  those  deft  mechanical  idiota  who  are  never  happy 
except  when  they  are  tinkering  with  machinery,  who 
invent  reasons  for  tinkering  and  then  tinker  so  badly 
that  they  have  to  tinker  again  to  cure  the  ill  effects  of 
the  previous  tinkering,  and  so  on  forever.  It  waa  an 
annoying  defect  in  the  man's  character,  but  Ruttley 
accepted  it  —  as  he  accepted  all  human  delinquencies 
—  without  trying  to  correct  it  He  was  not  a  reformer. 
He  was  a  playwright. 

He  did  not  so  much  as  look  to  see  which  part  of  the 
machine  was  to  be  operated  on,  but  turned  his  back  and 
moved  slowly  away  up  the  road,  in  his  dust-ulster,  smok- 
ing. The  apple  orchard  was  not  like  any  he  had  ever 
seen  on  the  stage,  and  he  regarded  it  a  moment  The 
blue  haze  of  the  hills  beyond  was  a  commonplace  of 
back-drops,  and  he  turned  from  it  to  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  where  poison-ivy  and  blackberry  brambles 
struggled  with  a  thicket  of  plum  shoots  for  possession 
of  a  hollow  in  the  hillside.  When  he  passed  the  thicket 
he  saw  a  house,  a  well-top,  and  a  woman  drawing  water 
there; 

That  was  the  order  in  which  he  saw  them,  and  the 
order  in  which  he  considered  them,  ""he  house  might 
have  had  some  interest,  for  a  "  By  Gosh  "  drama,  if  it 
had  not  been  spoiled  by  a  new  roof  of  cedar  shingles, 
new  tin  gutters,  and  new  leader  pipes.  The  well-top 
was  characteristic  —  particularly  the  faded  green  vei^ 
diter  of  the  lattice  on  it  The  young  woman  had  her 
back  to  him;  and  he  saw,  at  once,  that  it  was  a  back 
that  was  all  a  back  should  be. 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ABT 


.      Pla     It  re.^^fJl'^^l^'^^y  prolonged, im- 

-rm.  on  tj  rope  of  iTe  wer  ih     TT  *"*  "'  •"" 

"Buppleas.^ake'r  ^''«'' «J^  bent,  it  wm 

Huttley  was  «  connoisseur  in  backs -for  H„     *• 

tad  lost  her.    Her  sn^7         t.^  '  ""^  '*  ^**  ^^^  ^ho 

New  York.  Slie  had  ^  """f  ^^^e  a  long  run  in 
nobody  knew  why  ifn  ^?'  f'oad-to  England- 
and  the  n.o^  tS^d^  «!?  1 '"  '"""^  -'''^nation 

b^n  to  rise  to  W  Er  Sh't";  ''"'  '''  ^^'' 
address  -  in  care  of  »  T    ^'  "^  ^^^  ^im  her 

hehadtorn^tupld^ui'^  /r?*  "^-^-and 
ie  turned  to  Wve  her^^^  ""  '"'^  "*  ^"  ^^*  " 

not  heard  a  worfr^ThTr  or"  \T'^?'  '"'*  ^«  ^"^ 

While  he  was  still  scow wL, ^  tT  . 
Gibber  —  the  woman  h^^T  ,    *^°"^bt  of  Miss 


6S 


IN  THE  MATTER  OP  ART 


gr«M,  unoonioioui  of  him  —  bent  iidewige,  lithely,  with 
the  weight  of  the  pail  —  u  graceful  as  a  Naiad  with  a 
vase  on  lier  hip.  The  screen  door  of  the  kitchen 
slapped  shut  behind  her.  Inside,  she  began  to  sing,  in 
a  deep  contralto  voice: 

"■Now  you  are  married  yoit  mutt  obey; 
You  must  be  carefvi  of  all  you  say: 
You  mttsi  be  kind,  you  must  be  good  — " 

He  had  flung  his  cigar  aside,  as  if  it  were  his  last 
doubt,  and  strode  after  her.  With  the  click  of  his  heels 
on  the  stone  slabs  of  the  walk,  the  song  stopped.  When 
he  came  to  the  screen,  he  saw  her  standing  beside  the 
stove,  holding  a  tin  dipper  over  the  mouth  of  the  tea- 
kettle, her  face  turned  to  him. 

He  was  sure  that  she  could  not  distinguish  his  fea- 
tures ;  the  strong  sunlight  was  at  his  back.  And  he  did 
not  believe  that  she  recognized  his  voice  when  he  de- 
manded abruptly :  "  What  are  you  doing  here  V  But 
with  the  amazing  self-possession  that  had  been  her  first 
stage  asset,  she  emptied  the  dipper  into  the  kettle  and 
clapped  the  lid  on  it  before  she  replied :  "  I  'm  making 
luncheon." 

He  pushed  open  the  door  to  confront  her  dramatic- 
ally, his  vizored  cap  in  his  hand.  She  did  not  accept 
the  confrontation.  She  put  her  dipper  on  a  table. 
Then  she  wiped  her  fingers  on  the  kitchen  apron  that 
she  wore.  Finally,  with  an  amused  arching  of  her 
eyebrows  and  a  slowly  growing  smile,  she  said :  "  How 
do  you  do?  "  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART  „ 

or  c'ril '"IS"  77 ""•  .^''"'  ^•'"-  »  "  B7  Hook 

jHnki,  that  do  z  ;f  I's  iT„iri;  f"  "^  r 

do  not  even  draw  >  lin.  *      "  PUO'er,  the  face  —  that 

but  tun.  a^ide  unde   th  ^  "'**^^  *"  '^^  "»<'"«'. 

in  two  din.pi;  the^''y"""l'°«?*k,  «-d  twinkl^ 

-bowed  the  whiteXrtS  ^2"  "'"  *'"^-  '* 
tbe  low  lauifh  and  d.,r  v  ^**  ^"^  ''••t'ng  for 
When  thTchueti;^!  f  "f  "^  *'*  -«>  *<>  ^oLw. 
m  that  brief  ^^  "aj  reXj"  '"^"^  ^''  ^""l-  But 
was  aa  handso:ne  ^^e^  l*^"^  ""^  •'"''^ed  that  ,he 

n^oreathereaae  wi^Z'r  '°*""""''*  ""  <'^«'-'  «<1 
of  her  smileT^aTnlv  r  "  '^*''"  '^^'^  ^^^diineas 
•'eep  water^?L°e?i    VeT^:<;l7"«''t  -  -^ 

peering  would  give  him  a  «;..,.  7  u"'  ""^  "°°''°'  "^ 
dazde;  and  it  wm~L  2     f  ^'^'"  '"^  '^l"-  ^bat 

"What  .,, you  do^trer-  '"""'^'   ''<''^  = 

It^?*^'!,''"  "''^    "  ^n't  you  like  it  ?  » 

c-ro:t^rd:^rr£w^^^L^^^^^^ 
-h:at;?s.''^'^"^''"""'^'"^-^i'-.ta 


again.' 
He  preserved  h 


lis 


and  disgust.     It  was 


^>"^>^s-r7^z:^, 


expression  of  Dantesq 

Mpression  which  she  had 


ue 


severity 
'  once 


's  at  his  most  iiU' 


«4 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART 


prcHire,  It  did  not  tw*  her  now ;  it  loaned  to  ubiim 
bar;  and  she  Utighed,  cUaping  her  h«nd*  in  her  boeom 
M  if  the  humor  of  it  tickled  her  there. 

"  Yon  went  to  England." 

She  nodded.  "And  came  back  again  on  the  next 
boat  —  by  wajr  of  Montreal"     She  added,  as  a  wo- 


man's poctoript: 
teeaL" 

«  Married  f" 
qniok  icmtinj. 


'  I  was  married  there  —  in  Mon- 


Ee  bent  upon  her  a  penetrating, 
"Married!" 

She  continued  to  hug  herself  with  that  unchanging 
girlish  jojrousness. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  're, been  such  a  fool." 

She  smiled  and  smiled,  twinkling  at  him. 

"Who  is  it!" 

"Oh,  a  dear!"  she  gurgled.  "Nobody  that  you 
know.    A  love!" 

He  thrust  his  hands,  cap  and  all,  into  the  pockets  of 
his  ulster,  "  So  that  was  it  I  I  might  have  guessed  it. 
And  he  supports  you  —  does  het  —  in  this  abode  of 
luxury." 

Her  look  deepened  into  a  sort  of  happy  pity  of  him. 
"  He  works  for  me,  and  I  work  for  him." 

"Did  you  know  where  he  was  going  to  bring  you 
when  you  —  married  him  ? " 

"  I  picked  it  out  We  had  it  ready  before  I  sailed. 
I  went  to  England  just  to  throw  you  all  off  the  track." 

"  And  you  gave  up  your  —  your  career  —  for  this  I " 

She  considered  him  a  moment  with  her  untroubled 
gray  eyes.     "  Oh,  you  would  n't  understand,"  she  said ; 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART  «s 

;J-d«pp«,  W  B„d.  .„d  turned  f  Ji  Z::^2 
Tofh.5T  *"  ''''*  "P  ""^  •'<'*»  *!•«  «><»»•     "And 

'"^si'.-rr'i;.*-— ';■:;■' 

"Hrl"  '  "*""P»P«™'">-"     She  broke  »aother  e« 

thf  hrs?e~^-S°^— ""^  -^kB  here  Z; 
«H«  «.;  I,  "PP^'^  ^'"^'*  *o  »  Dover  beater 

He  gets  honie  at  four  i„  the  afternoon,  and  lear«"; 
■IX  in  the  morning  "  Jeares  at 

One-"'  '     tablespoonful     of    butter. 

Ye.     No^  plea«,   don't   bother  n.e,"   she   said. 


86 


IN  THE  MATTEB  OF  ABT 


"Go  and  sit  down  in  the  other  room  — where  it's 
cooler."  And  she  knitted  her  brows  over  the  recipe, 
determinedly  oblivious  oif  him,  in  an  almost  exaggerated 
poso  of  housewifely  absorption  in  her  work. 

He  went  to  the  door  of  the  dining-room  —  a  sunny, 
small  room,  done  in  what  the  decorators  call  "  old  gold," 
with  yellow  siU-curtains  of  Chinese  silk  on  the  win- 
dows, and  a  sere  grass  matting  on  the  floor.  «  Twenty- 
five  dollars  a  week  I  " 

She  said,  from  tie  cupboard:  "  And  enough  money 
in  the  bank  to  last  us  three  years." 

"AchI"  He  left  her  — with  her  irritating  com- 
placency—and stalked  through  to  the  living-room, 
glancing  in  at  a  whit»  bedroom  as  he  passed.  There 
was  nothing  anywhere  to  indicate  the  actress.  Even 
the  pictures  on  the  walls  were  not  of  the  stage.  They 
were  the  usual  reproductions  of  popular  magazine 
prints  — many  of  them  what  are  techi.ioaUy  known,  to 
the  producers  of  them,  as  "kissing  pictures."  He 
miffed  and  turned  his  back  r)n  them,  standing  before 
the  wmdow,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  feet  wide 
apart,  in  a  thoughtful  attituda 

He  stood  there  until  he  saw  his  chauffeur  and  his 
auto  appear  from  beWnd  the  plum  thicket.  Then  he 
went  to  the  door  and  called  authoritatively:  « Go  on 
up  the  road  and  get  yourself  something  to  eat »— and 
came  back  to  the  dining-room  with  the  face  of  determi- 
nation. 

"  You  're  acting,"  he  said.     «  It 's  all  a  pretense." 
She  was  setting  the  table  with  dishes  for  two,  and 


m  THE  MATTER  OF  ABT 


Md  yon  think  it 's  real."  *^  "  ~ 

"  Well,  at  least,"  she  said  "  T  «,f  ™„„    i 
of  it  than  I  ever  did  in  ^r  pla^s '^  She  ^I^  '"'* 
at  W.,  archly  sly,  to  see  how  he'S'it.       '  '"'"'  "^ 

ile  took  it  with  a  grim  nod      «  v„    >     >. 
Ellfin   T»,»^  e^unnoa.        I  ou  Ve  been  reading 

act  the  Mar,  Ande^:^-^,,  nVyS"  ^'^-    ^'^^  ^ 
She  had  shown  by  a  blush  that  he  had  probed  her 

before  you  're  thirty     W.  I  ,f^  "PP'^  °'«^'^<1 

"TV-    ?  i^^"        °'^  yourself  angular  — » 

opoil  your  hands " 

"  I  '11  wear  rubber  gloves." 

tirl'STo„'l^^'  ^'°"^'  •-^^-     ^our  husband  wiU 

"Will  her'  she  said,  reappearing  with  the  omelet 


}■    "  I 


1-^ 


68 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART 


on  a  platter  and  the  teapot  in  the  other  hand.  "  I  '11 
attend  to  that.  It  '11  be  variety  that  will  tire  him,  if 
he  does." 

"  And  you  'II  tire  of  him." 

"  If  I  do,  I  '11  never  let  him  btow  it  Now  " — 
she  put  the  omelet  before  him  — "  help  that  before  it 
goes  flat     Won't  you  take  off  your  ulster  ? " 

He  was  hungry  enough  to  be  diverted  by  the  sight 
of  food,  and  gentle  enough  to  be  mollified  by  an  offer- 
ing of  hospitality,  but  he  still  insisted,  even  as  he  took 
off  the  coat:  "You're  acting.  There's  not  a  thing 
of  your  real  self  in  the  whole  house.  You  're  pretend- 
ing that  you  were  never  on  the  stage.  Not  even  a 
pictura" 

"  You  have  n't  seen  the  garret  Cieam  and  sugar  ?  " 
she  asked,  pouring  his  tea.  "Seal  cream.  We  have 
a  cow.     I  milk  her." 

He  had  to  say:  "Pleasa  Two  lumps."  He 
helped  her  to  a  portion  of  the  omelet,  and  she  smiled 
hospitably  upon  him  as  she  took  her  plate  from  him  and 
pRssed  him  his  cup.  "  Jack  says  I  brew  tea  like  an 
Englishwoman." 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said,  as  he  attacked  his  omelet, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  transact- 
ing business  at  lunqheon,  "  you  can't  put  me  off.  I  've 
caught  you,  and  you  might  as  well  give  up  first  m  last 
Who  is  he !  Eh  ?  Where  did  you  meet  him  ?  Why 
did  you  marry  him?  Why  did  you  run  away  and 
hide?" 

"  Because,"  she  replitl,  addressing  herself  daintily 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  AET  69 

to  her  food,  « I  knew  you  would  all  talk  just  as  «ou 
have  been  talkuur  now  and  T  h;,i  ^»*        ..  I    ,       " 
with  you.''^  and  I  did  n  t  want  to  be  bothered 

"Guilty  conscience,"  he  said  curtly.     "You  knew 
you  w««  dou^  wrong^  ^id  you  tell  Jur  parents  »" 

ried  a^r     W^-    r^°*^''  '^'^-'^^  f''*-  mar- 
ned  again -before  I  went  on  the  stage.    He's  too 

::sTo:,rr  - 'r*- -^°'« -^*--  jS 

was  the  only  person  in  the  world  I  cared  a  cent  about 
L'rjTritf'"^''^™^^''^^    He'sb^nwriti^t 
"  Love  letters  ?  " 

thal'^dW  t"  '7''"*L"  '''  ''"^     "  ^'  -■«  ^«  J«'te- 

"r.;*;h^:;i-::,^:-^ 

™  rK.  love  letters  th^wV^He^SriZ 

"8t';i:Sv;i.;^"^*-<''^-^eisni. 

"I  will    -UdI']lgive,outheli«,     G,  on.     Why 
*•▼•  I  iiev«-  mm  this  paragon  ?  "  ^ 

and^Ui"^^^^  ^  "-- ^«  ^  »- to  «•  P>-e 

W^   I  >«t  a«d  to  me*  him,  now  ..d  then,  some- 

bTT'lt^'     "^  "'^     ^  ^"^  y°"  °»»  o"  the  street 
b^t^  I  »=«  W  an>u„d  the  comer  l.fo^  ,,,  ^' 

" '  Th.  «iri  who  deceives  her  father  will  deceive  her 


^«^'-' 


hit 


70 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART 


husband.'     Tlut 'a  the  moral  of  runaway  matches.    Go 
on." 

"  And  then  he  took  ill,  and  I  did  n't  see  him  for 
nearly  a  month,  and  I  missed  him  so  much—" 

"  That  you  thought  you  were  in  love  with  him.  I 
understand.  That's  the  usual  thing.  He  was  prob- 
ably pretending  tiat  he  was  sick,  just  to  see  whether 
you  had  '  got  the  habit '  or  not.  He  played  you  like  a 
fish— tautened  tue  line  — and  when  he  was  sure  that 
he  had  you  well  hooked  —  eh  ?  —  he  said :  '  Now  you 
must  leave  the  stage.  I  '11  feel  safer  whai  I  have  you 
in  my  own  little  creel.'     You  were  a  gull." 

"  No."  She  pushed  back  her  plate  and  put  her  el 
bows  on  the  table,  her  liands  clasped  under  her  chin. 
"  No.  He  did  n't  say  a  word  about  leaving  the  sta«e. 
I  did  that  myself." 

"_  You  did.  Well,  well.  No  wonder  you  're  proud 
of  It."  He  took  out  his  cigar^ase;  she  watched  him, 
reminisoently,  the  light  of  his  match  reflected  in  her 
set  eyes.  "Perhaps,"  he  said,  "you  will  explain 
why?" 

She  blinked  quickly.  «  Yes,"  she  replied,  « I  '11  ex- 
plain why.  ...  I  was  out  at  a  studio  —  a  painter's  — 
and  he  had  a  pet  monkey  that  imitated  everything  it 
had  seen  him  do.  It  sat  at  his  easel  and  daubed  his 
canvas  —  and  put  its  head  on  one  side  and  then  on  the 
other  — and  when  we  all  clapped  our  hands  and  cried: 
'What  a  perfect  little  actor!'  it  chattered  and  made 
mouths—"  She  imitated  its  grotesque  baring  of  the 
teeth.     "And    I    said    to    myself:    'There    I    am 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ART  n 

.?d2r"  ^r'^^'tl'^'e-tor.  They  dress  me  „p, 
and  put  me  on  the  stage,  and  I  imitate  what  I  Ve  sTn 
real  people  do — '  "  " 

"  ^^'"  lie  cried,  "  that 's  true  of  all  art,  if  you  want 

do^LLT:         '''"'"'^    '^o°l^^-;  monkey 
do.      Hang  that  up  in  your  library." 

but  rilW  "f  ^*  -^^  '^^'"■'  "''""^'"y  *o  resuscitate  it, 
^^^eally  to  g„n  a  moment  in  which  to  prepare  . 

She  did  not  wait  for  him.  «  I  was  tired  of  it "  she 
yTalS  ".frir  'f:'  '"''^''  ^'"^*-'  -i  -d 
real  hfe  of  my  own -away  from  all  you  people  that 
don't  see  anytUng  except  to  imitate  it,  t^  w,^^  Xt 
the  monkey  with  it.  And  when  I  fo^nd  7*?!  ieaHv 
could  love  Jack -that  I  had  enough  of  the  h^^ 
bemg  eft  in  me  for  thai^j  ^.^  4  chan^whTe" 

around  and  reitettT.f  ^^  r^l^lTl 

hid.  Iwauttohve."  She  threw  her  arms  out  aJ^he 
sunny  room.  "Here.  A  real  life  WiO^VrL 
And  be  happy.  And  I  am  iJlver  frou .,  ""* 
eoa.  me  back  as  long  as  I  can  have  tLs.  i -^  ^ 
to  have  a  real  life,  with  real  work,  real  lovf-fanf 
bah. -real    babies  -  babies    of    my    oZ'    She 


n 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  ABT 


"  1 


\M 


stopped,  tears  in  her  eyes,  her  lips  trembling;  and  with 
one  of  those  sudden  changes  of  mood  that  had  made 
her  acting  so  heart-tickling,  she  quavered:  "And 
yon  're  probably  sitting  there  thinking:  '  What  a  beauti- 
ful bit  for  a  play  I  If  I  could  only  get  her  to  act  it 
like  that!"' 

"  You  were  thinking  it  yourself,"  he  said  to  the  ash 
of  his  cigar,  "  .  it  never  would  have  occurred  to  you. 
However,  you  could  marry  and  keep  your  private  life  to 
yourself.     Your  public  life  — " 

"  I  don't  want  any  public  lifew  I  've  had  all  the  public 
life  I  want  I  don't  want  two  lives.  I  want  it  all  one 
—  and  this  ona" 

"  Very  well,"  he  said.'  « If  that 's  the  way  you  feel 
about  it  Nevertheless,  there 's  no  reason  why  a  man 
or  a  woman  can't'be  a  great  artist  and  live  a  real  life  as 
well" 

"'Nevertheless'!  Nevertheless,  what  sort  of  life 
do  you  lead  ?  " 

He  put  that  question  aside  with  his  hand.  "  My  life 
is  what  I  'm  able  to  make  it  If  I  were  a  bigger  man, 
I  might  lead  a  bigger  lif  &     You  — " 

"  I  'm  not  half  as  big  as  you  are.  This  is  big  enough 
forme  —  this  life." 

"  You  '11  eat  it  up.  You  're  wolfing  it  down  now, 
and  smacking  your  lips  over  it  When  you've  de- 
voured it,  you  '11  go  back  t»  the  other,  too." 

She  settled  back  in  her  chair  rather  languorously  — 
as  if  exhausted  by  the  emotions  that  had  thrilled  her — 
and  looked  down  at  the  spoon  which  she  had  begun  to 


If  "-iiinMiirn 


IN  THE  IHATTER  OF  ART  73 

balance  in  her  &,g«„»     "  You  don't  know.     Ton  don't 
blow  how  Wei,  it  is.    J„,t  the  Joy  o{  JrZ^H 

SwLri:t'!''^'^^-^-^-''««>-Xi 

l.eSd?ott'd'*^',T^'^-    P^'J-P"  it  w«  because 

tTthelTf   ="  P'°^«»-°  '«'<i  ta-^ht  hin.To  su' 
perament   and    training.     "Well,    I'm   glad   vou 're 
happy,"    he  said.     «  I  hope  it  lasts.    But^if  you  eve" 
want  to  come  back  to  the  stage  — » 
She  shook  her  head. 

fi„t^,>  '  '      "^*  "  ™  we  to  come  to  me 

''Thank  you,"  she  said,  non-committaUy 

»  ..i  ■    ?  ^'"^  "'"'  *^**  ^  ''^  J»«t  fi°«hed.     There  's 

retire,  th«.,  with  enough  to  keq,  you  both  in  luxury  for 
the  rest  of  yonr  lives."  "^uiy  lor 

8al''''^Shr    ^^"'-'"'^-e'l-    "Behind  me, 
'' i't  t^  r?^    ''P  '"'"*  ""^^^^  '^'^  ««d  -*h  them 

"Vjr,      J  "? '  '*'°'  '""=''  ^*°  the  room." 
Very  well,"  he  resigned  himself.    "But  I  w«it 
you  to  promise  me  one  thing  " 

;;^at  is  it  I  "she  asked  from  the  doorway. 


T4 


IN  THE  MATTEB  OF  ART 


She  came  in  for  the  other  diahe*.  "  I  will  on  one 
condition  —  thtt  you  don't  tell  any  one  where  I  am  — 
ihat  you  Ve  aeen  me,  even." 

"  Very  good.     That  'a  agreed." 

She  went  about  her  worL  He  continued  nnoking 
ailently,  watnhing  her.  "  You  're  a  strange  girl,"  he 
■aid,  out  i'i  his  thou^ta, 

"Yei?"i''    smiled.    "  How  did  you  find  me ? " 

"  I  've  b<  0.  vorked  too  hard,"  he  sighed.  "  I  needed 
a  rest  1 '  e  been  knocking  around  the  hills  with  a 
cursed  mechanic  that 's  always  stopping  to  take  the  oar 
to  pieces.  However,  people  can't  write  —  or  telegraph 
me — " 

"  So  you  've  run  away,  too,"  she  said,  and  left  him 
to  go  about  her  kitchen  work.  "Have  to  have  the 
place  tidy  before  Jack  comes  back,"  she  excused  her- 
self. 

He  sat  musing,  enjoying  the  quiet  of  the  room,  of  the 
view  across  the  valley  showing  between  the  curtains  of 
the  window,  of  the  whole  life  that  seemed  to  be  peace- 
fully breathing  in  the  faint  sounds  from  the  fields.  She 
called,  sotio  voce:  "Don't  let  him  come  in.  He 
might  recognize  me." 

It  was  the  chauffeur  coming  back  with  the  car;  she 
had  seen  him  from  the  kitchen  window,  far  up  the  road. 
Ruttley  went  to  the  door.  "All  right,"  he  called 
through  the  screen. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said  to  her,  «  and  lenwmbor." 

She  dried  her  hands  hastily.  "Good-by.  And  don't 
foiget     Not  a  word  to  any  one." 


IN  THE  MATTER  OF  .ABT  75 


I'i;. 


i4. 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


MICIOCOrY   •■SOLUTION   TIST   CHAIT 

(ANSI  Odd  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  J) 


I^M^I^ 


A  /APPLIED  llvVCE     Inc 

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—  (716)  286  -  5989  -  Tax 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


AT  ft,8  time  of  mght,  the  street  wa«  as  quiet  as  a 
t„rh  I  ?fl  "^^^'-^ith  nothing  to  recall  the  day's 
turbulent  flow  of  traffic  except  its  empty  channel  of  pL 
".g-stones  worn  smooth.  Over  the  bllck  wall  of  the 
wa  ehouses,  a  moon  hung  like  the  frosted  gloi  of  t 
arehght  :n  the  slope  of  a  high  sky.     A  parade  of  sreeT 

Imps  marching  down  the  deserted  sidewalks,  had  haS 
along  the  gutter-edge;  and  under  the  ligh  of  one  J 
these  lamps.  Patrolman  Feeny  was  planted  f  uZajf 

rhTh::jd^:i°^*^^-'^'«"^^^-^=: 

S^^f^t^-rSSeSS 
the  Deputy  Commissioner  on  a  baseless  charge  of  S^ 
off  post,  and  he  had  been  fined  two  weeks'";:/  r' 
Dally,  he  had  just  been  warned  that  he  would  cTntinue 
0  be  so  transferred,  fined,  and  generally  perseeSr 
til  he  gave  up  the  twenty-five  dollars  thJZ  ■    1 

of  him      A„A  I.  ,  aoiiars  that  was  required 

78 


80 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


Or  were  they  impossible  ?  The  elections  were  coming 
on.  The  reformers  were  making  "police  graft"  the 
great  issue  of  the  campaign.  He  could  give  some  evi- 
dence that  would  be  worth  hearing;  and  if  he  made 
Tammany  his  enemy  forever,  he  would  make  all  re- 
spectable citizens  his  friends.  There  were  other  ways 
of  earning  a  living  besides  walking  the  beat,  were  n't 
there?  A  man  had  a  right  ^  call  his  soul  his  own, 
hadn't  r?  He  was  n't  owned  by  a  lot  of  dirty  grafters 
who  c  jid  shake  him  down  every  time  they  wanted 
money,  was  he  ?     Not  by  a  — ! 

He  raised  his  head  defiantly  — his  big  bullock  head. 
He  was  n't  going  to  pay  them  for  his  right  to  earn  an 
honest  living.  Not  by  a  good  deal !  If  he  had  to  leave 
the  department,  he  'd  go.  He  could  get  along.  He  had 
saved  a  little  bank  account  out  of  his  salary.  He  could 
get  a  job  somewhere. 

He  could  get  a  job  — for  that  matter  — on  the  tun- 
nol  work,  as  night-watchman,  like  old  Joe. 

The  thought  was  flashed  on  him  by  the  sight  of  old 
Joe's  lanterns  further  up  the  street,  where  the  red 
lamps  of  a  tunnel-digging  burned  in  the  solitude  like 
the  signals  of  a  deserted  railway  yard.  They  reminded 
him  that  it  was  time  old  Joe  had  his  coffee;  and  he 
started  up  the  flagstones  to  relieve  the  friendly  watch- 
man, his  shadow  now  shouldering  along  determinedly 
before  him,  now  following  doggedly  behind. 

An  iron  shutter  creaked  somewhere  in  the  wind ;  the 
blazing  windows  of  a  trolley  car  floated  silently  across 
the  distant  head  of  the  street;  a  manhole  was  steaming 


^' 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


81 
in  the  gutter.  For  the  rest,  he  was  the  only  thing  that 
made  sound  or  motion.  ^ 

old  Joe  doddering  down  to  meet  him,  muffled  in  a 
ders  for  a  capa  He  had  a  teamster's  cap  dra^vn  down 
protruded,  smokeless,  as  .     ^   ..r  he  general,;suS 

yult"£!''''""'"''^"^^-     "^'"'-kouttiU 

finS-'  °L?v\'*"Vu.*'"P  '■''  P'P«  -•'!"  «  hooked 
iTu  *^'T,*"™«'>  ''•"'  round  with  a  hand  on  the 
shoulder,  and  they  went  along  together. 

Ibe  watchman  coughed  feeblv     "  T  ..-.o.,  *       j- 
S;^Tt'i?,*^\n'^^'"^'-^'"^etrkth 

Feeny  grunted;  he  did  not  reply. 
It 's  none  av  my  business,  that 's  true  enough  "  the 
-tchman    muttered.     "I    thought    yeh 'd    wtt    to 

tHeW^''rn;'^-ir'^"^"*^--^-« 

^^£^>:::^:  "-^  -^-« 

1  m  sore.  They  've  been  poundin'  me  —  ud  to  TToo^ 
quarters.  No  offense,  Joe  They 've  been  t,^,?f 
«hakemedown....An'by4-"tbrrout 


8S 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


clenching  his  gloved  fist  before  him,  "  I  won't  stand  fer 
it.  I  '11  fight  'em  on  it.  I  '11  squeal  on  the  whole  lay- 
out    I  will,  s'  welp  me  1     I  will !  " 

"  Tsh,  man,  not  so  loud,"  the  watchman  cautioned. 
"  What  is  it  ?  Squeal,  d'  yeh  say  ?  Are  yeh  goin'  to 
fight  Tammany  Hall  ?  " 

Feeny  thudded  hia  fist  into  his  open  palm.  "  I 
ami" 

The  watchman  struck  down  at  Feeny's  hands  with  a 
passionate  blow  that  knocked  them  apart.  "  Niver ! 
Niver  I  "  he  cried.  "  Are  yeh  crazy,  man  ?  Niver  try 
that.  Niver,  niver !  Hear  what  I  tell  yeL"  He  had 
caught  Feeny  by  the  sleeve  and  clung  to  him.  "  Hear 
what  I  tell  yeh."  He  dropped  his  voice.  "  They  '11 
crush  yeh  like  a  toad."  His  old  loose  lips,  .-set  between 
the  hea/y  wrinkles  that  fell  from  his  nose,  writhed  out 
the  words  in  a  hissing  whisper.  "  The  way  they  did 
me!" 

Feeny  took  a  long  breath.  "  What 's  the  matter  ? 
What  ails  yuh  ?  "     He  had  been  startled. 

The  watchman  pushed  up  the  peak  of  his  cap.  "  Did 
y'  iver  hear  av  VLnny  Doyle  ?  " 

Feeny  shook  his  head.     "Doyle?     What  Doyle?" 

"  Yer  father  'd  'a'  knowed."  He  tapped  the  patrol- 
man twice  on  the  broad  chest.  "  I  'm  Vinny  Doyle." 
He  drew  hack.    "Me!" 

The  light  of  an  electric  lamp  above  them  shone  in 
his  face.  It  was  the  gray  face  of  senility,  grooved  and 
hollowed.  A  three  days'  beard  had  covered  his  chin 
with  a  growth  as  fine  and  white  as  a  mould.     His 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES  gg 

stretched  neck  was  shrunken  to  the  sinews.     There  were 

tears  in  his  eyes.     "  Vinny  Doyle  1  " 

^^  Feeny  backed  him  into  the  shadow  of  a  doorway. 

He.-e,  Joe,"  he  said,  "  pull  yerself  together." 

The  old  man  shook  him  oflf.  "I  know— I  know 
what  yeh  're  thinkin'-"  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
worried  forehead.  "Wait  now.  Vinny  Doyle!  It's 
a  name  on  a  gravestone,  that!  " 

Feeny  stepped  out  to  reach  an  empty  barrel  plastered 
over  with  theater  posters.  He  rolled  it  into  the  door- 
way.    "  Sit  down,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  sat  down  weakly.  He  sighed  and  shook 
his  head.  In  a  little  while  he  sighed  again.  Suddenly 
he  asked:  "  D' yeh  mind  '  Big  Six '  2  Old 'Big  Six'? 
—  Tweed's  '  Americus  Six '  3  " 

Feeny  did  not  understand. 

"  The  fire  injun  -  the  big  one  -  the  double-decker," 
the  old  man  urged. 

"  I  guess  that  was  before  my  time,"  Feeny  said 

Sure  enough,  it  was Well,  well.  .  .  I  ust  to 

run  with  her,  an'  fight  with  her.  .  .  An'  Bill  Tweed? 
Yeh  mind  Bill  Tweed  ? " 

"  I  mind  when  ht,  died  in  Ludlow  Street  Jail,"  Feenv 
answered  patiently. 

The  old  man  chuckled.  "He  did  that.  He  did 
that.  But  this  was  thurty  years  befoore  —  down  in  th' 
injun  house  in  Hiniy  Street  -  whin  he  was  foreman  av 
JNo.  bix. 

yuh  ^'^'^'"  ^"""^  "'''^'     "  ^"^  ''"  *"  °^'  ^"^P'  "« 


84 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


"  I  am  that"  He  threw  back  the  corner  of  his  blan- 
ket, and  went  through  hig  pockets  for  a  match. 

Feeny  filled  hU  cheek  with  a  ball  of  fine  cut,  and 
leaned  back  against  the  door-poet.  "  Them  was  gay  ol' 
days,  if  yuh  believe  all  yuh  hear." 

The  watchman  wagged  his  head.  "I  mind  the 
nights  better  thin  the  days,"  he  said.  "  With  tu  sittin' 
'round  in  the  dark  —  an'  the  light  leakin'  out  av  the 
cracks  in  th'  ol'  store  —  an'  the  wood  that  was  blazin' 
in  it,  stole  over  Grigg's  back  fince  the  night  befoore. 
An'  Duffy  singin'  '  Bed  Robin '  er  '  Th'  Angil's  Whis- 
per.' .  .  .  My,  my,  how  Duffy  end  sing.  I  niver  heerd 
the  bate  av  him."         i 

Feeny  said,  absent-mindedly:  "Uh-hnhl"  and  his 
thoughts  returned  to  his  troubles.  He  heard  the  watch- 
man rambling:  "Niver  the  bate  av  Conny  IjuSj  to 
sing  —  an'  Butcher  Sleeman  to  fight  —  till  I  wint  at 
him,  bare-handed,  in  the  bunkroom,  an'  pounded  his 
fayturee  into  a  mince.  After  that,  I  was  'Banty 
Doyle  '  the  '  Tirror  av  the  Tigers ' —  aa'  me  two  eyes 
blue-black  fer  a  week." 

This  did  not  seem  very  important  Teeny's  atten- 
tion wandered.  When  he  listened  again,  the  old  man 
was  saying:  "  '  Yeh  're  a  beauty,'  Molly  says  to  me. 
'  So  I  am,'  says  I.  '  But  I  'm  a  plaster  ca'.t  to  yer 
frien'  Butch  Sleeman,'  I  says.  '  I  come  to  tell  yeh  he 
won't  be  'round  to  see  ydi  fer  a  montL'  An'  we  wint 
off  to  Niblo's  Oarden,  that  night  togither,  Molly  an' 
me." 

Feeny  asked :     "  Who  was  Molly  ? " 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


85 


"She  wu  •  great  g\irl  — »  great  garL  But  she 
wanted  all  the  fun  av  ooortin',  an'  none  av  the  trouble 
that  begini  whin  the  ooortin'  inds,  an'  she  kep'  me  an' 
Butch  prowlin'  'round  there,  spittin'  an'  gpattin'  like 
a  pair  av  tomcato  on  a  fines,  till  we  gplitted  the  oomp'ny 
into  two  halves  with  our  fracahuns.  An'  whiu  Tweed 
run  fer  Alderman  from  the  Sivinth,  we  both  woorked 
to  lee  which  cud  woork  the  hardeet  — an'  Tweed  wint 
in,  with  a  toorch-light  perceasion  an'  a  hill  av  a  jambaree 
—  an'  I  got  me  job  in  the  Coort  House  — an'  Butch 
got  a  plintiful  promise  av  big  things  to  be." 

Feeny  snorted.  "It's  a  dirty  game,  politics. 
They  're  a  gang  o'  fakers." 

^^  "It's  like  iyiythin'  ilse,"  the  watchman  replied. 
"  It 's  what  we  make  av  it.  But  it  takes  big  men  to 
play  it  big,  an'  the  little  men  it  makes  little  shysters." 
He  reached  out  his  black  claw  of  a  hand.  "  Man  alive 
if  we  Irish  had  the  men  to  lead  us!  If  we  had  the 
men  I  We  stick  to  such  as  we  have  —  we  vote  fer  thim, 
an'  fight  fer  thim,  an'  believe  in  thim  whin  iVry  one  ilse 
is  peltin'  thim  with  pursecntions  —  an'  by  God,  they 
diate  us,  an'  seU  us,  an'  laugh  at  us  —  laugh  at  us  I  — 
till  some  one  ilse  sinds  thim  to  jail  fer  stealin'  from 
us!  An'  even  thin  do  we  give  thim  up?  No,  sor! 
'Tis  the  curse  av  loyalty  that's  on  us  — the  curee  av 
loyalty.  I  mind  the  day  whin  I  'd'  ve  bit  off  me  thumb 
fer  Bill  Tweed,  an'  I—" 

"  What  'd  he  do  to  yuh  ?  "  Feeny  cut  in.     "  What  'd 
he  do  to  yuh  ? " 

"He  done  me  dirt    He  done  me  dirt."    He  gulped. 


86 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


"  Wait,  now.     I  '11  tell  yeh.     Lind  me  the  loan  av  a 
match." 

His  hand  shook  as  he  took  it.     When  Uie  dottle  of  hit 
pipe  was  glowing  again,  he  went  on,  hoarsely:     "  Yeh 
mind,  in  thim  days,  the  fire  comp'nies  wag  a  sort  av 
military,  tool     Well,  I  was  the  best  shot  ar  the  Young 
Americus  Guard.    An'  whin  we  'd  p'rade  home  from  a 
target  excoorsion  —  an'   that   was  a   clam-bake    t  a 
chowder  party,  'g  the  caso  might  be  —  there  'd  bv      I-ig 
buck  nigger  at  the  head  av  us  with  the  wooden  ta    ^t 
slung  'round  his  neck,  an'  somewheres  about  the  middle 
sv  that  butt  there  'd  be  my  mark,  now,  yeh  cud  be  sure 
avthat  .  .  .  That 'show  I  come  to  jine  the  Zouaves  — 
th  Ellsworth's  Zouaves  — the  '  Pet  Lambs  '  they  called 
us  —  whin  the  war  bruk  out.     I  want  to  pot  holes  in  the 
nbils,  an'  Sleeman,  that  cud  n't  no  more  than  hit  a  side 
av  beef  with  his  fat  fist,  he  stayed  to  home,  sure  enough. 
'An'  he  was  the  wiser  man.     But  Hivens  I  there  was 
hven  hunderd  av  the  boys  listed  from  the  fire-houses 
in  three  days,  mind  yeh!     Sleeman  must've  been  as 
cold-blooded  as  one  av  his  own  steaks  to  've  stud  the 
whoop  that  carried  us  all  in. 

'■I  wint  to  Molly.  An',  ' Molly,'  I  says,  '  I  'm  off 
to  Washin'ton.     I  've  jined,'  I  says. 

"'Jined?' says  she.  'Jined  what?'  An' her  hand 
was  gone  limp  where  I  held  it. 

" '}  'ye  listed  with  the  boys,'  I  says.  '  We  're  goin' 
to  defind  Washin'ton.'  An'  with  that  she  gave  a  little 
grunt,  hke  some  one  'd  hit  her  in  the  wind,  an'  she  come 
into  me  arms  sobbin'. 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


87 

"  fi'.??  "  ''"•'  '»'  'f"'''  «»  ""ft  ««  feathen,. 

^""ib.  '  ^-y", '  if  I  -d  knowed  this,  now,  I  'd  niver 

Z     "V.  7'  """"  ""'  »*"-  '''-  I  thought/  I 

Z^h  ^'::''/'''  """''  ^  "'^«-     '  I  '•»  o°ly  -worn 

I '  1  tT  T    "/  /  "^^'  '  '"^' "'  ^^•^ '"  ""'"7  me  now, 
■I  11  bo  bBck  m  July  to  yeh '  j  > 

A  rub',er.tired  coupe  bowled  past  them,  carryinir  the 
wreck  of  «,me  midnight  dissipation  to  the  TuSfa^h! 
around  the  comer.    Feeny  spat  solemnly  and  changed 

off'li?!?"''  "'^  "  *^'  ^"""^""^  «^<^-     "  ^e  inarched 

to  a  .  "^  r  *  u'  ,*"^'"'  *"  ^P"'  -  "J^«  ^e  -as  goin' 
to  another  c lain-bake  down  the  Bay-with  the  cLd 
whoopan',  an'  the  band  bleatin',  an'  us  the  bully  boys  1 
-down  Canal  Street  to  th'  ol'  ' Baliic/  that  wis  W 

InT^n  1,"'',*°  ""^"^  ^^'^'  """y '"  *«  time-  W 
yelah-belhed  eels   -an'  bat  thim  on  the  head  fer  su^ 

tlgh;,'"    ''   ""'    "^"'^   "*  ^'^''"S''*'    I^"l«  we 
^Jpy  cleared  his  throat,     "^bid  y„h  «erve  all  the 

Rnll  p'^''^  "ot- worse  luck  I    I  got  no  further  than 
Bull  Run    .  .      W.  sailed  down  to  Washin'ton  an'  S 
«to  quarters  there.    An'  we  toomed  out  to  a  fireZ 
WHB  bunun'  nex  to  a  big  hotel.     I  mind  that  well. 
An   thm  we  were  shunted  here  an'  shunted  there  fer 


11 


88 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


months,  an'  there  was  nothin'  but  the  divilmint  av  the 
hoyt  till  we  wint  to  the  front  cheerin',  to  woUop  the 
ribili. 

"  What  happened  I  dunno,  fer  right  to  the  start  av  it, 
I  got  a  bullet  in  me  right  arrm  —  here !  "  He  atretched 
out  bia  deformed  wrist.  "  An'  while  I  was  huntin'  fer 
a  doctor,  all  the  boys  came  runnin'  back  through  the 
woods  on  top  av  me,  cursin',  an'  weepin',  an'  talkin'  to 
thimsilves  —  an'  the  sight  av  thim  scared  the  soul  out 
av  me,  an'  I  tied  mesilf  up  in  a  han'kerchief  an'  run 
till  the  groun'  lifted  up  an'  bumped  into  me — an' 
that 's  all  I  rimimber  fer  a  week." 

He  shook  his  head.     "  'Twas  a  bad  bus'ness.     'Twa» 
that." 
Feeny  grunted. 

"  An'  whin  I  heard  the  doctors  talkin' — er  thought 
I  did  —  I  was  not  in  me  right  mind,  no  doubt  —  talkin' 
av  cuttin'  off  me  arrm  at  th'  elbow,  I  says  to  mesilf, '  No 
soree  1  If  yez  can't  fix  me  togither,  I  know  a  man  that 
can.'  An'  I  slid  out  av  hospital,  an'  crawled  to 
the  depot,  an'  the  nex'  thing  I  rimimber  I  was 
bein'  bandaged  bo  ol'  Doc.  MoGrath  right  here  in 
Cherry  Street.  But  how  I  got  there,  no  one  niver  lud 
tell." 

Feeny  coughed  apologetically. 

The  old  man  hastened  to  add :  "  Anyways  it  made 
no  matter.  Me  time  was  up,  an'  I  was  no  good  fer 
soldierin'  with  the  hole  in  the  hinge  av  me  hand.  Not  a 
bit.  Not  a  bit,  .  .  .  Eot  the  pipe!  Have  yeh  the 
makin's  av  a  smoke  about  yeh,  at  all  ?  " 


TAMMVNY'S  TITHES  9 

"I 've got  a  cigar,"  Foeny  Mid,  feeling  in  the  breast 
of  his  overcoat 

The  watchman  sniffed.  "What  good's  a  saygar? 
Gi'  me  a  pinch  av  yer  ohewin'.     I  Ml  smoke  that." 

Feeny  passed  him  the  package  of  fine^ut,  and  he 
filled  a  pipo-bowl  that  was  burned  as  thin  and  jagged  as 
the  half  of  a  scorched  eggshell  He  blinked  his  pathetic 
old  hound's  eyes  at  the  flame  of  tho  match.  When  the 
tobacco  had  begun  to  fume  and  bubble  rankly,  he  settled 
down  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  said :  "  Listen, 
now.     T  Ve  come  to  the  pint    Listen  I 

"When  I  got  foot  on  the  piveminte  again,  what 
d  yeh  think  I  lamed?  — that  Sleeman  had  me  job  in 
the  Coort  House  — Butch  Sleeman!  — an'  him  givin' 
me  the  b  .  jh  I  '  Faith,'  I  says,  '  I  '11  fix  you.  me  brave 
boy,  an  x  wint  to  -"weed.  An'  he  toomed  me  down! 
Toomed  me  down!  ,  .  .  «Yeh  .vint  galivantin'  off  to 
the  war,'  he  says,  an'  left  yer  frien's  to  fight  out 
their  own  troubles  here,'  he  says,  'an'  now  yeh 
can  make  good,'  he  says.  '  Go  an'  make  good,'  he 
says. 

"  I  looked  at  him,  an',  '  I  'm  a  married  man,'  I  says 
—  an'  tried  fer  to  say  it  meek,  fer  Molly's  sake,  the 
way  av  married  men  — '  I  'm  a  married  man,'  I  says, 
'  an'  the  wife  'a  in  trouble,  an'  there 's  the  doctor  to 
pay,  an'  the  likes  av  that,'  I  says. 

"  He  waved  me  off  like  a  street  beggar.  '  That 's 
none  av  my  doin','  says  he.  An'  with  that,  'twat  as  if 
some  one  had  puUed  a  trigger  in  me  bead,  an'  I  boo  it 
out  with  a  curse  av  Tweed,  like  yersilf  here  —  jus'  like ! 


00 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


IP*' 

r  . 


In  thim  days,  I  feared  no  man,  nayther.  I  wag  young 
an'  raised  rough,  with  fires,  an'  fightin',  an'  the  divil 
knows  what.  An'  I  dared  Tweed  to  his  face.  '  I  '11 
make  good,'  I  says.  '  I  'U  show  yeh,  niver  fear.  I  '11 
show  yeh,'  I  says.     '  I  '11  show  yeh !  " 

"An'  I  done  it  I  got  Barney  Coogan  to  promise 
he  'd  run  ag'in'  Tweed's  man  far  alderman.  I  got  a 
meetin'  togither  an'  nominated  him.  I  woorked  fer  four 
months  in  the  ward,  with  me  frien's  —  an'  I  had  plinty 
—  an'  Tweed  bein'  busy  with  his  own  campaign  fer 
sheriff,  an'  Coogan  a  pop'lar  man  —  we  got  Coogan 
ilicted  by  the  Hn'th  av  his  long  ears,  an'  the  boys  av  No. 
6  swore  they  'd  batter  me  to  a  pulj). 

"  Look  yeh  now.  Here 's  what  happened.  I  was  so 
blown  up  with  what  I  'd  done,  that  one  night  I  walked 
into  a  joint  they  called  the  '  Tiger,'  to  show  the  gang 
I  was  in  no  fear  av  thim  —  if  I  had  raytreated  all  the 
way  from  Bull  Run  to  Cherry  Street,  hot  foot,  as  they  'd 
been  sayin'  durin'  th'  'liction.  Me  arrm  was  in  a  sling, 
but  I  had  a  pistol  in  m'  other  pocket,  an'  I  strode  up  to 
the  bar  an'  ordered  me  drink  like  a  loord.  An'  whin 
I  toomed  on  me  elbow,  there  they  sat  watchin'  me, 
quiet,  like  so  many  circus  cats  in  a  cage.  An'  I  knew, 
thin,  I  'd  done  wrong. 

"  There  was  no  word  said,  but  one  av  thim  got  up 
an'  slid  too'rds  the  door,  an'  whin  I  started  backin'  on 
it,  whippin'  out  me  shooter,  the  tables  wint  over  with  a 
leap  —  an'  the  room  full  av  thim  pounced  on  me  —  an' 
some  one  grabbed  the  gun  —  an'  it  wint  off  in  his  grip 
—  an'  through  the  smoke  I  saw  Butch  Sleeman  open  his 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES  91 

big  month  an'  clutch  at  a  splatter  av  blood  on  his  throat 
an  go  down  idth  a  gurgle  I 

"  The  bullet  had  took  him  fair  in  the  neck,  an'  bnik 
lus  spine.  He  was  dead  whin  they  picked  him  up  off 
the  sawdust,  an'  I  dropped  the  gun  an'  run  fer  dear 
life. 

"  I  was  with  Molly  whin  the  police  caught  up  to  me 
-  waitm  fer  thim  -  sittin'  on  the  side  av  the  bed,  an' 
Molly  propped  up  with  the  pillows,  in  her  night-clothes 

-waitm'  fer  thim I  mind  the  ruffles  on  'round 

her  neck  an'  all Niver  a  word  she  'd  said,  but  jus' 

screamed  whin  I'd  told  her -an'  caught  hold  av  mo 

hand,  an'  held  to  it,  dumb She  sat  up  whin  they 

come  in  starin',  an'  her  lips  as  white  as  her  teeth, 
breathin'  h<u-d.  An'  whin  I  kissed  her  good-by,  she 
did  n_t  ake  her  two  big  eyes  off  thim,  an'  the  sweat  was 
drippin'  off  her  face  like  water.  ...  I  cud  n't  speak. 
Me  voice  was  dried  up  in  me  throat.  ...  An'  that  was 
tne  last  I  iver  saw  av  Molly." 

He  dropped  his  hands  between  his  knees  and  stared 
out  at  the  white  street  «  The  last  I  saw  av  Molly 
They  swoore  I  'd  walked  into  the '  Tiger '  an'  had  wordi 
with  Sleeman  an'  pulled  out  me  gun  an'  shot  'm.  One 
after  th  ither,  they  got  up  an'  swoore  to  it  —  the  whole 
gang  -  Tweed's  gang.  An'  they  told  av  th'  old  inmity 
between  us  two,  an'  how  Sleeman  'd  took  me  job  from 
me.  An'  they  had  the  gun  with  the  chamber  impty,  an' 
the  broken  bullet  An'  they  had  me.  like  a  man  in  a 
drem,  hstenin'  an'  watchin'  till  the  cold  orep'  up  from 
me  feet,  an'  me  heart  toomed  over  an'  died  inside  me." 


f  I  i 


9S 


TAMMANY'S  TITHES 


II' I 


He  licked  big  lipa.  "  They  sintinced  me  to  prison 
fer  life." 

Feeny  swore  a  great  oatL    "  That  —  Tweed  1 " 

"No  I  "he  cried.  "No!  'Twas  not  Tweed.  Little 
need  had  Ae  to  do  it.  'Twas  done  fer  'm  be  the  toads 
that  wanted  to  get  right  with  'm.  There 's  the  danger  I 
Whin  yeh  fight  Tammany,  yeh  fight  all  the  thaves,  an' 
liarg,  an'  jail-burds  that  do  the  dirty  work  without 
bein'  told  —  in  the  hopes  av  what  they'll  get  fer  it. 
Yeh '11  fight  Tammany,  d'  yeh  think?  The  dogs  that 
live  off  Tammany's  leavin's,  they're  the  ones  yeh '11 
fight,  Feeny.  An'  God  hilp  yeh  I "  He  reached  his 
bands  up  over  his  bead.  "  God  hilp  yeh,  fer  yeh  '11  need 
it.  It 's  me  that  knows  —  me  that 's  laid  awake  nights 
holdin'  mesilf  down  in  me  bed  to  kape  from  leapin'  at 
the  bars  like  a  wild-cat  —  me  that 's  been  buried  alive 
these  thurty  years,  a  livin'  corpse  —  me  that 's  lost  wife, 
an'  child,  an'  frien's,  an'  fam'ly  —  All  lost,  Feeny,  all 
lost ! "  He  broke  into  sobs,  his  old  toothless  mouth 
trembling  and  distorted,  the  thin  tears  streaking  the 
hollow  of  his  cheeks.  "  Me  1  The  husk  av  a  man ! 
That  dare  not  go  into  a  crowd  —  that  dare  not  so  much 
as  inter  a  departmint  store  —  fer  fear  av  what  might 
happen  to  drag  me  back  to  me  cell !  Out  on  commuted 
sintince  fer  good  conduc'  I  All  the  life  wrung  from  me, 
drop  be  drop,  an'  the  dried  rind  av  me  thrown  out  here 
in  the  gutter  I  Take  yer  lesson  here,  Feeny.  Take  it 
here,  fer  it 's  bitter  teachin'  yeh  '11  get  from  thim!  " 

Feeny  took  off  his  helmet  and  wiped  his  forehead. 
The  old  man  sank  down  on  himself,  exhausted. 


TAMMAirra  tithes  93 

"At  first,  I  thought  'twas  all  done  be  way  av  j,t8t 
fnghtenin'  me  —  that  after  a  month  er  so  seme  one  'd 
come  foorth  an'  clear  me,  an'  I  'd  go  back  to  Molly  con- 
tmt  to  have  no  more  to  do  with  Tweed,  ner  Tammany, 
ner  any  other.  ...  Thin  Molly  died,  an'  the  child 
after,  an  she  ust  to  come  to  me  like,  at  nights  — with 
the  ruffles  'round  her  neck,  an'  all,  an'  her  black  hair 
pinned  up  the  way  she  ust  to  pin  it  up  fer  bed  —  an' 
we 'd  whisper  an'  talk  low  togither  fer  fear  the  guards 

d  hear  us Well,  well,  'twas  years  since -years 

an^  years  smoe.     I  was  half  crazed,  no  doubt. 

"She  wint,  like  iv'rythin'  ilse.  Molly  wint  I 
dunno  how  ner  why.  An'  I  kep'  writin'  fer  pardons  - 
wntm'-an'  talkin'  to  this  one  an'  that  one  — year  in 
Ml  year  out  ...  I  was  'trusty'  av  'Millionaires' 
Bow,  as  they  called  it;  an'  they  all  promised  to  hilp  me 
whm  they  'd  get  out  —  Jawn  Y.  MoCabe  an'  Biff  Ellis 
im  all  the  rest.  An'  some  one  hilped  me,  no  doubt ;  fer 
Ouvner  Eoosevelt  commuted  me  sintince  to  fifty-five 
years,  an'  I  got  twinty-two  off  fer  good  conduc',  an' 
he;  5  J.  am.  .  .  .  Here  I  am." 

There  followed  the  silence  of  despair  — the  old  man 
hunched  up  on  his  barrel,  gazing  at  nothing  and  sucking 
on  his  cold  pipe -and  Feeny  standing  with  his  jaws 
set,  blinking  at  the  red  lights  in  the  road. 
^''  What  '11 1  do,  then  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 
"  Aye,"  the  watchman  answered,  "  what  can  yeh  do  ? 
What  can  one  man  do  to  right  what  we've  all  av  us 
made  wrong,  an'  our  fathers  befoore  us?  We  must 
make  oursilves  right  first,  Feeny.    'Tis  in  the  nature 


Mi 


TAMMAKT'S  TITHES 


av  118  — deep,  deep  I  'Tig  like  Jawn  Y.  MoCabe  that 
was  sint  up  the  river  fer  falsifyin'  his  register  lists  — 
an  I've  seen  him  readin'  his  Bible  in  his  ceU  iv-ry 
morning  an'  niver  cud  he  see  that  he  'd  done  wrong  — 
niverl "  He  put  his  pipe  in  Ms  pocket  and  rose  stiflF- 
kneed.  '"Twill  all  come  right  some  day.  Whin  we 're 
dead  an'  gone,  mebbe.  But  nayther  through  you  ner 
me,  Feeny.  Nayther  through  you  ner  me."  He 
muffled  himself  in  his  horse-blanket.  "Kape  yer  eye 
on  thim  planks  a  jiffy,"  he  said  huskily.  «  I  'm  goin' 
'round  the  comer  to  get  a  dish  av  tay." 

Teeny  watched  him  g».  The  silence  closed  in  be- 
hind the  shuffling  footsteps.  The  distant  murmur  of 
traffic  was  no  more  than  the  restlessness  of  a  city  asleq). 
And  Nicholas  Pascal  Feeny  was  alone  with  the  curse  of 
his  kind. 

He  took  off  his  gloves.  He  tucked  them  into  his  belt 
He  drew  a  roD  of  bills  from  his  pocket,  counted  off 
twenty-five  dollars  for  Tammany's  tithe,  and  put  them 
mside  the  sweat-leather  of  his  hehnet  to  have  them 
handy. 


X 


THE  CLOWNS 


J 


i 


THE  CLOWNS 


THE  difference  between  the  two  Heniy  Brothers," 
^^         a  dramatic  critic  had  written  of  them,  jocularly, 
18  the  difference  between  the  realist  who  observes  the 
modesty  of  nature,  and  the  romantic  artist  who  adds  c 
to  truth  and  begins  where  the  realist  leaves  off  " 

They  were  «  The  Henry  Brothers  »  on  the  prograius ; 
but  they  were  «  Hen  Sutley  "  and  "  Hany  BurU  »  in 
private  life;  and  they  were  the  "star"  clowns  of  the 
New  York  Amphitheater.  Their  dressing-room  was  a 
fireproof  cement-and-metal  cell,  as  small  as  a  bathroom 
and  as  fuU  as  a  wardrobe  -  with  parte  of  costumes 
hanging  from  hooks,  dangling  from  clothes'  lines,  curied 
on  steam  pipes,  heaped  on  stools,  spread  on  trunk-tops, 
packed  on  shelves  and  even  tied  to  door  knobs  — with 
battered^  hate  and  tangled  wigs,  pink  fleshings  and 
striped  tights,  underclothes  and  foot  wear,  bandana  hand- 
kerchiefs and  paper  collars  -  with  disorder  crowded  on 
discomfort  in  the  temperature  of  a  Turkish  bath  and 
the  odors  of  a  soiled-clothes'  basket. 

The  lean  Sutley  sat  in  his  undershirt,  on  his  make-up 

stool,  sewing  a  rent  in  his  tighte.    His  face  was  the 

poisonous  white  of  a  death's  head.    His  eyelids  were 

blackened.     His  mouth,  black  too,  was  painted  in  the 

97 


98 


THE  CLOWNS 


melancholy  wide  grin  of  a  skulL  His  long  arms  were 
as  thin  as  cross-bones.  Barelegged,  as  solemn  as  Death 
mending  his  shroud,  he  sewed  and  said  nothing,  while 
the  fat  Burls  perspired  and  complained. 

And  the  sum  of  Burls'  complaint  was  that  spring  was 
here;  that  summer  was  coming;  that  Sutley  and  he 
might  be  out  with  a  circus,  dressing  in  a  shady  tent, 
with  grass  under  their  feet,  eating  like  farm-hands,  and 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  tired  tramps  while  the  railroad 
train  rocked  them  across  cool  country  —  instead  of 
stewing  all  day  in  this  condemned  "  sweatshop,"  eating 
like  condemned  cockatoos  in  little  footy  cages,  and  try- 
ing to  pound  their  ears  at  night  in  condemned  two-by- 
fours,  while  all  the  kids  and  all  the  cats  and  all  the 
married  couples  of  the  quarter  "  scrapped  an'  yowled  " 
together  "  on  th'  other  side  o'  the  plaster." 

"  And  besides,"  he  said,  in  a  semi-humorous  exagger- 
ation of  disgust,  "  these  N'  York  crowds  're  froze  all 
the  time,  I  don't  want  to  dally  with  'em.  They  're  a 
bunch  o'  yaps  that  on'y  sit  an'  grin  at  the  chorus  girls. 
You  hare  to  near  break  yer  neck  to  shake  a  laugh  out  of 
'em.  I  'm  sick  of  it  —  grindin'  through  the  same  ol' 
gags  twice  a  day.  Why  don't  they  turn  us  loose  the 
way  fhey  do  in  a  circus,  an'  let 's  raise  a  laugh  any  way 
we  can  ? " 

He  shut  his  lips  long  enough  to  mark  them  out,  with 
vermilion,  in  a  fixed  grin  that  curled  up  into  his  cheeks. 
He  reddened  his  nose  end.  He  drew  barbaric  rings 
around  his  eyes.  And  then  he  continued,  in  a  voice  of 
self-conscious  indignation: 


Mi 


n 


THE  CLOWNS  m 

"We  got  an  act  here  — with  Milly  an'  ol'  Pop  — 
that'd  bring  twice  the  price  with  a  circus.  An'  wo 
could  make  a  contrac'  fer  our  own  little  hanky-panky 
entries  all  to  the  good.  We  're  wastin'  time  an'  we  're 
WBStin' money.  MiUy's  act 's  a  lalabazaza.  She's  the 
best  thing  on  the  bare-back  since  Lally  Dulian.  An' 
they  're  tryin'  to  keep  her  down  so  they  won't  have  to 
pay  the  price.  If  she  was  to  sign  with  a  circus,  they  'd 
paint  her  name  on  the  paper  in  letters  a  foot  high,  an' 
we'd  m^e  as  much  money  as  them  dip-o'-death"  gazav- 
bos  —  an'  make  it  with  our  hoofs  in  the  sawdust  all  the 
time." 

_  Sntley  said,  sepulchrally :    "  01'  Pop  Yost  would  n't 
give  us  none  o'  hia  graft." 

"  He  'd  have  to.  If  they  contracted  fer  the  act,  we  'd 
all  get  our  share  in  it.    We  'd  all  get  paid." 

"  She  don't  get  none  of  it,  now." 

"  Well,  he 's  her  boss,  but  he  ain't  ours,  is  he  1  Any- 
way, she 's  tryin'  to  get  away  from  nim.  She 's  puUin' 
on  the  rope.  An'  he 's  nervous.  There 's  too  much 
Willy-at-the-stage-door  bus'ness  goin'  on  here.  I  know 
how  he  feels  about  it.  He 's  game  to  leave  it  an'  go  'n 
under  canvas  any  day.  She  could  n't  get  out  of  his  eye- 
sight if  they  were  travelin'  with  a  show,  but  she  '11  get 
away  from  him  here,  if  he  don't  look  quick." 

Sutley  made  no  reply;  and  his  face,  in  its  make-up 
of  oxide  of  zinc  and  grease-paints,  was  as  expression- 
less as  wax  works.  But  when  Burls  dropped  his  voice 
to  a  chuckling  note  of  confidentiality,  and  said,  "  I  been 
tellin'  ol'  Pop  I  'd  heard  there  was  a  yap  out  in  front 


14 


100 


THE  CLOWNS 


that 's  been  tryin'  to  get  a  math  note  in  to  Milly,"  But- 
ley  looked  up  at  him  with  a  startled  round  eye. 

Burig  grinned.     "  I  got  him  goin'  all  right" 

"  Say,"  Sntley  protested,  "  what  'a  the  use  o'  stirrin' 
up  dirt?  We're  all  right  the  way  we  are.  I  ain't 
atuck  on  the  ciroua.  It's  a  lot  cozier  hero  when  it 
rains." 

"Eains!" 

"  Well,  I  ain't  got  three  fingers  o'  suet  on  my  ribs, 
like  you,  an'  I  'd  just  as  leave  keep  dry." 

Burls  put  aside  the  objection  with  a  disingenuous 
laugh.  "  How  about  settin'  out  on  the  back  stoop  o'  the 
sleeper,  wavin'  yer  legs  in  a  forty-mile  breeze ! " 

"How  about  the  night  the  menagerie  jumped  the 
track  an'  we  bumped  into  the  ditch  on  top  of  'em  I " 

"Aw,  add  it  up  I  Add  it  up  t  You  leave  this  to  me, 
Hen.  What  we  want 's  a  oontrac'  fer  two-hundred  per 
apiece."  *^ 

The  call  boy  shrieked  up  the  iron  staircase :  "  Hen- 
peygl" 

Burls  answered,  "  Yaw  right  1 " 

They  attacked  the  final  details  of  their  costumes  in 
the  silence  of  preoccupied  haste,  as  busy  with  their 
thoughts  as  they  were  with  their  buttons ;  for  -  -  from  the 
futile  discussion  that  the  call-boy  had  ended  — an 
impending  crisis  had  made  itself  apparent,  plain  to 
both,  outwardly  ignored  by  both,  but  secretly,  to  both, 
exciting  and  deoisiva 


i^: 


THE  CLOWNS 


101 


They  found  "MiUy"  (who  was  "Mile.  Blano") 
and  he  father  (who  wa.  her  ringma.ter)  in  the  wint-s, 
•t  the  ^d  of  a  runway  that  led  up  to  the  atage  from 

«  'Ello  'Enl  '•  to  Sutley;  and  her  father,  arranging  the 
faatenings  in  the  back  of  the  "Mother  Hubbard  "  that 
Bhe  wore,  looked  over  her  shoulder  to  growl  a  curt 
greeting  to  the  downs.  A  stableman  led  up  her  white 
horse,  "Prince."  Her  father  gave  her  a  lift  to  ita 
broad  Nonnan  beck,  wf'l  rubbed  with  powdered  resin, 
iinrla  led  the  old  man  asido. 

She  watched  them  go.  "What's  'e  got  on  with 
Pop!  "she  asked  Sutley. 

He  stroked  the  horse's  neck.  "D'  you  want  to  go 
back  to  the  circus  ? " 

"Met  Nyol  We  on'y  just  got  the  flat  lookin' like 
'om&    W'yf" 

"That -8  why."  He  indicated  Burls  and  the  father 
with  a  nod.  "  Keep  yer  eyes  open.  Don't  say  I  tol' 
yon."  •' 

She  gave  him  a  long  stare  of  comprehension.  «  W'at 
d  you  think  I  Aam/" 

He  did  not  say,  although  he  studied  her  as  gravely 
as  If  he  were  preparing  some  reply.  Her  mother  had 
been  a  frail  Cockney  blonde,  and  she  herself  was  of  that 
type  of  prettiness ;  but  she  had  her  father's  darker  eves 
and  she  had  the  robust  good  health  of  her  circus  train- 
ing.   She  was  just  full-grown,  and  she  was  as  frank 


109 


THE  CLOWNS 


•ad  simple-minded  u  moet  modem  oircui-women  m; 
but  the  (tage  had  added  •  touch  of  coquetiy,  and  ihe 
smiled  down  at  Sutley  oballengingly. 

His  ^ea,  in  his  set  face,  looked  up  at  her  a*  if 
through  the  eyeholes  of  a  mask.  «  He  wants  to  go  back 
to  the  road.  He  won't  go  unless  he  goes  with  your 
act"  ' 

She  said:  "  Then 'e '11  bo  a  long  time  goinV  She 
put  on  a  big  sun-bonnet  and  tied  its  strings  under  her 
chin.    "  AH  right,  'En.    I  'U  'elp." 

He  nodded. 

She  settled  herself  for  her  public  appearance,  as  her 
father,  with  a  ringmaster's  long  wL.p  in  his  hand,  took 
Prince  by  the  bridle  and  led  him  out  to  the  cocoa  mat- 
ting of  the  Amphitheater  ring.  Burls  ran  after,  pre 
tended  to  trip  on  the  wooden  ring-bank,  fell  on  his  face 
and  came  before  the  fooUighte  pressing  the  flat  of  his 
hand  to  his  nose-end  and  grimacing  for  a  laugh  —  which 
he  did  not  "  draw." 

The  gaunt  Sutley  followed.  When  he  came  to  the 
spot  where  Burls  had  fallen,  he  stepped  over  it  with  a 
carefulness  that  was  only  slightly  exaggerated;  and  a 
little  titter  of  amusement  went  like  a  ripple  over  the 
house. 

Buris  muttered :     "  Yaps  I    Yaps !  " 

Prince  began  to  amble  around  the  ring  and  the  country 
giri  in  h.-  Mother  Hubbard  clung  to  the  twchhanded 
girth  of  V  abbing  that  gave  her  a  hold  on  the  horse's  back. 
Sutley  sat  down  on  the  bank  facing  the  fooUights  and 
began  to  dabble  his  feet -huge,  false  feet,  bare  and 


THE  CLOWNS  jos 

ugly  -  in  the  imaginary  water  of  .  pool.  Burl.  wa. 
maiing  an  appeal,  i„  dumb  show,  to  Milly  and  her 
fj^er,  to  be  allowed  to  ride  behind'her  on  Print  ruj- 

2  1^1  :T  "^  •"""'f  '"""''  ^'"'  ««>"•  '"d  trip- 
ping  and   falling   continually.     When    "Pop"    Yoi^ 

.topped  the  hor«.  Burls  tried  to  climb  up  one  of  iu 

hind  Ie«s,  sliding  down  it  as  if  it  were  fhe  "„e.sy 

Immediate  y,Sutley  reached  the  whip,  bent  a  pin  to  the 
end  of  the  lash,  impaled  upon  the  hook  -  in  pantomime 

began  to  fish.  He  was  so  innocently  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing for  a  bite  that  Yost's  indignation  fell  on  him  un- 
awar«.    He  accepted  the  traditional  ill-treatment  from 

laZ'TT  '"  "  ''"""'''"«  ''«'?•-«"-  that  Z 
pathetically  funry,  and  when  Yost  had  gone  back  to 

m  WlT  '  '""^^  °^  *"•"'■•  l-^t^l  -iA  -"Other 

ssig':;^;;;"'™' -^  «««'«^ '■--'^ -^'y  to  his 

To  the  audience,  they  were  merely  four  mountebanks, 
of  no  recognizable  human  personality,  performing  like 
amed  animals  together.  It  was  not  apparent,  ac  Isl 
^Le  footlights,  that  the  girl  received  BurlTon  the  hoi 
H~  "'"'v'  ^difference;  and  the  rack  of  the 
nngmaster  s  whip  expressed  to  the  house  t  >thing  of  the 
parental  ill^empe.  of  which  it  spoke  to  Milly  fnd  h 
partners  Sutley  seemed  wholly  interested  fn  his  ab- 
Burd  anghng,  covering  his  head  with  a  red  handkerchief 
to  shade  hunself  from  a  pretended  sunlight,  and  wist- 


I 


104 


THE  CLOWNS 


f   i 
1' 


fullj  pulling  on  liig  line  to  see  whether  he  had  a  fish. 
The  others  seemed  to  he  as  diligently  playing  the  fool, 
intent  only  on  amusing  the  audience. 

And  the  truth  was  that  the  whole  four  —  heing 
circus-trained  and  indifferent  to  "  Bubes  " —  scarcely 
gave  the  audience  a  thought.  Milly  went  through  the 
motions  of  her  act  mechanically,  watching  Sutley  and 
thinking  of  what  he  had  said.  In  her  pretense  of 
awkwardness  on  horseback,  she  clung  to  Burls ;  but  she 
might  have  been  clinging  to  a  dummy,  for  all  the 
thought  she  gave  him  —  until  he  asked  flirtatiously: 
"  What 's  the  grouch  Pop  'b  got  oi.  ? "  Then  she  re- 
turned from  absent-mindedness,  focusing  her  eyes  on 
him  to  answer:  "You  ought  to  know.  iZou  were 
gpeakin'  to  'im  last" 

He,  in  his  part,  swayed  and  sprawled  and  almost  fell 
from  the  horse  —  replying  at  the  same  time:  "I 
was  n't  askin'  him  any  f  am'ly  secrets." 

They  bumped  along  together  in  silence,  slipping  and 
clutching  at  each  other  in  a  burlesque  of  fear. 

She  said  out  of  her  thoughts :  "  'E  's  gettin'  so  cross 
there 's  no  suitin'  'im." 

He  suggested:  "You  might's  well  be  married  as 
livin'  with  him,  eh? " 

She  had  a  feminine  impatience  for  this  sort  of  profes- 
sional humor.     She  did  not  reply. 

"  Say,  Milly,"  he  joked,  "  now  that  you  're  thinkin' 
about  gettin'  married  —  how  about  Hen  there?" 

It  was  said  partly  in  jealousy  because  he  had  noticed 
her  friendliness  for  Sutley. 


THE  CLOWNS  105 

She  stared  at  him  with  an  expregsion  that  did  not 

take  the  joke.    He  tried  to  smile  her  down.     "What's 

^e  matter,  eh?     He  ain't  as  ugly  as  he's  painted." 

His  make-up  spread  his  smile  across  his  face  in  a  mock- 

i"^  ? »    ""'"°*'"'  '*"'■     "  ^""'"^  "'*  ^""  ^^™  *"  '°^ 

"  Aw,  come  off,"  she  said  hotly,  and,  lurching  against 
mm,  she  upset  his  balance. 
He  fell  from  the  horse's  flank  to  the  cocoa  mat 
This  fall  was  a  bit  that  was  in  the  act,  but  she  had 
given  It  out  of  its  time;  there  was  no  crash  of  drums  to 
mark  it,  and  the  music,  instead  of  quickening  for  the 
change  m  the  act,  dragged  along  in  the  unfinished  move- 
ment of  the  amble  Nevertheless,  MiUy  jumped  to  her 
feet  on  the  horse's  back,  untied  her  sun-bonnet  and  flung 
It  at  Burig      ^h„  ^^  li^p.^  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^  ^^  ^^6 

to  take  up  his  part  again,  and  bruised  and  angry.  Then 
with  a  jerk  at  the  fastenings  that  her  father  had  ar^ 
ranged  in  her  Mother  Hubbard,  she  flung  off  that  flimsy 
wrapper  and  emerged,  the  lithe  and  graceful  "Made- 
moiselle Blanc,"  in  the  white  silk  costume  of  an  acrobat, 
pirouetting  on  one  foot,  poising  like  a  ballet  dancer 
houS  "  «^mmingly  i»  the  applause  of  the 

But  the  music  and  the  horse  were  still  moving  too 
slowly.  Her  father  cracked  his  whip  at  Prince  and 
cursed  under  his  breath.  The  conductor  of  the  orches- 
tra, seeing  the  difficulty,  tried  io  catch  up  to  the  act,  and 
threw  his  musicians  into  confusion.  The  «  equestrian 
director     came  up  frowning  to  the  ring-bank  and  cen- 


106 


THE  CLOWNS 


Bured  Burls  for  falling  from  the  horse.  There  were 
some  awkward  moments  before  the  performance  began 
to  go  smoothly  again,  and  in  the  mean-time  the  defiant 
Milly  lost  her  flush  of  impetuous  ill-temper  and  began 
to  consider  the  explanation  she  would  have  to  make  after 
her  somersaults  were  finished  and  she  faced  her  father 
in  the  wings. 

Her  success  as  a  bareback  rider  was  all  that  remained 
between  him  and  the  poverty  of  a  circus  acroDat's  old 
age.  He  had  taught  and  trained  her.  He  watched 
over  her  talent,  now,  with  the  fierce  jealousy  of  an  old 
miser.  He  dictated  what  she  was  to  eat.  He  saw  to 
it  that  she  kept  light  and  supple.  He  went  about  with 
her  like  a  Spanish  duenna,  afraid  of  the  inevitable  love 
affair  that  would  mean  the  beginning  of  her  end;  for 
the  laws  of  nature  do  not  allow  a  matron  to  do  horse- 
back tumbling,  and  even  maturity  itself  is  an  enemy  to 
the  agility  of  the  equestrienne. 

She  knew  how  he  would  storm  at  her  for  having 
marred  her  act,  and  the  knowledge  made  her  anxious  at 
a  time  when  she  should  have  had  every  faculty  undis- 
tracted,  every  nerve  tense.  She  made  her  first  somer- 
sault successfully,  with  an  accuracy  almost  automatic, 
quite  unthinkingly.  But  as  she  gathered  herself  for 
her  second  leap  she  wakened  suddenly  to  an  unreadiness 
of  mind  that  became  a  consciousness  of  impending  fail- 
ure as  her  body  launched  into  its  spring.  Her  brain 
seemed  to  hang  back,  fumbling  with  the  messages  it 
should  have  sent  to  the  responding  muscles ;  and  in  mid- 
air she  found  herself  frantically  "  oast,"  dead  of  mo- 


THE  CLOWNS  107 

mentim  and  paralyzed  with  fear.  For  an  instant  the 
air  seemed  to  support  her,  inert,  as  if  she  were  floating, 
aware  of  the  horse  below  her,  the  flies  above  her,  the 
footlights,  and  the  crowded  house.  Then  she  felt  herself 
tauing,  and  with  a  panic-stricken  convulsion  of  every 
despairing  muscle  she  threw  herself  clear  of  the  horse 
and  came  down  on  her  feet  in  the  ring. 

A  pain  wrenched  in  her  back.  Her  father  caught 
her  as  she  staggered.  She  saw  that  he  was  white  with 
a  spasm  of  fear  that  had  brought  the  perspiration  to  his 
forehead  "Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid,"  she  said  bit- 
terly.   "I  ain't 'spoiled.'" 

His  face  darkened  with  a  different  emotion.  «  You 
better  look  sharp,  me  girl,"  he  threatened.  «  You  '11  be 
nned  for  this,  mind  you." 

«  S'*Vf,  f  ^'^'^  •""*  "''O'^*'  if  I  broke  me  back." 
«n«.       L  \^^^  *^  B"l«  to  lead  up  the  horse. 
Get  up  diere  "  ..  said  to  her,  "  an'  do  yer  turn." 
"I  won't  I  "she  said. 
"Get  up  there  I" 

R„7  ^°u%   y,^.  '"""^    ^  '^'"^'*-"    She  turned  to 
Sutley.     « 'En !  »  she  called  in  a  fierce  undertone. 

but  ley  had  been  trying  to  cover  the  break  in  the  act 
by  making  a  frantic  dumb  show  of  a  man  whose  hook 
has  been  taken  by  a  maskinonge;  but  at  her  cry  his  line 

fif  L""/!  T  *"  ^'^  *"  ^^'^''^ '»  P'^*''='="^e  that  a 
frl?  t  ??  1^  "^"^"^^  '*  "^f  '"  the  air  with 
trembling  hands)  had  almost  dragged  him  into  the 
water.  At  the  same  time  he  asked,  like  a  ventriloquist, 
without  moving  his  lips:    "  What 's  the  matter ?» 


108 


THE  CLOWNS 


j;ni 
III! 


"  I  nearly  came  a  nasty  buster.  I  Ve  strained  me 
bacL" 

Sutley  turned  to  her  father,  repeating  his  pantomime, 
but  increasing  the  length  of  the  fish  to  three  feet,  and 
explaining  at  the  same  time:  "  You  'd  better  help  her 
off.  She's  lamed."  Crossing  to  Burls,  he  said: 
"  Take  away  the  horse.  Milly  's  hurt"  And  the  fish, 
this  time,  was  four  feet  long.  When  he  came  to  the 
"  equestrian  director,"  it  was  apparently  to  lament  the 
loss  of  a  young  whale.  And  lie  continued  running 
from  one  to  the  other  —  as  they  made  their  exit  to  the 
wings  —  trying  in  vain  to  stop  them  with  his  lost-fish 
story. 

As  soon  as  they  were  behind  the  shelter  of  the  scenery. 
Tost  rounded  on  the  girl,  and  she  turned  for  aid  to 
Sutley.  But  it  was  Burls  who  saved  her,  for  the  mo- 
ment, by  stepping  between  her  and  her  father  and  draw- 
ing the  old  man  aside;  and  the  authoritative  ease  with 
which  he  did  it  showed  that  there  was  some  understand- 
ing between  them  to  give  the  clown  the  influence  he  evi- 
dently had.  Sutley  said  to  her  quickly:  "  He '11  use 
this.    See?" 

She  saw  —  with  a  glittering  diy  eye  of  anger. 
He  whispered :    "  To-morrah  's  Sunday.    Where  can 
I  find  you  —  in  the  momin'  ?    Will  you  meet  me  at  the 
comer  o'  Broadway  ?     I  want  to  see  you." 

"  If  I  can  get  out.  'E  '11  try  to  make  me  stay  in,  if 
me  back  ain't  better."  She  looked  at  him,  silent 
"  I  '11  come,"  she  said. 

He  went  with  her  to  the  foot  of  the  iron  stairway 


THE  CIOWNS  109 

Uiat  led  to  her  dressing-room;  and  he  stood  to  watch 
her  mount  to  the  first  turn  of  the  steps.  She  climbed 
nZ  •'  '^/'^°«*  »«y'''J'  figu^,  as  pretty  as  a  court 
page  m  satm  doublet  and  hose,  but  lifting  herself  from 
step  to  step  with  a  discouraged  weariness  that  reflected 

She  smiled  wanly  down  at  him  as  she  disappeared,  and 

SusW  ""^f  I"''  ''"""«  "P  "'  ''°*'°S  ™til  !>«  was 
pushed  aside  by  a  troop  of  chorus  girls 

He  returned  to  his  dressin^room  to  change  his  cob- 
r  T  "t^"; "  '°*'^-"    ^^  ^"^^-y  Shis  wal 

It  s  the  goods,  Hen.  Sashay  the  girl  home  f-night. 
I  got  bus'n^  with  th'  oP  geezer.  She 's  put  the  hog 
nng  in  her  fair  young  snoot  all  right,  all  right." 

Ill 
They  were  Hen  Sntley  and  Hany  Burls  to  their 
fnends,  bu  they  had  been,  in  the  days  of  their  youS 
Henrik  Sutliev  and  Heniy  Berlitz  -  the  first  the  Z  of 
a  bird-fancier  and  taxidermist  on  the  Bowery,  and  the 
other  ^  he  said,  "the  heir  of  a  kosher  b^ber"  1 
Canal  Street  They  had  been  doing  "  comic  en  ries  " 
together  for  thirteen  years  -  beginning  with  a  nigk  at 
the  old  Columbia  Music  Hall  when  Sutley  haS  ^en 

LaLi?  ^""'''"^  ''""'^  ""''  "•"«  dances  and 
nasalized  comic  songs;  and  they  were  bound  now  in 
tfjeir  pannership  by  all  the  years  of  hardship  thThad 
endured,  by  the  prosperity  they  had  achiev'ed,  by  tie 


110 


THE  CLOWNS 


apprenticeship  and  the  success  in  life  that  they  had 
shared  together. 

But  they  had  come  to  the  Amphitheater  from  the 
circus-ring  where  Sutley  had  been  little  better  than  a 
"feeder"  to  the  popular  Burls;  and  now  he  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  make  Burls  merely  a  feeder  to  the  popular 
Sutley;  for  Burls  was  a  "knockabout"  clown,  and 
his  slap-stick  art  was  in  tone  with  a  three-ring  circus, 
but  too  loud  for  the  theater;  T^iisreas  Sutley  merely 
translated  the  actions  of  life  into  terms  of  his  own  per- 
sonality, expressing  himself  in  a  pantomime  that  was 
naturally  comic  just  as  the  movements  of  beauty  are 
naturally  graceful,  and  he  had  "  made  a  hit "  in  the 
Amphitheater  after  failing  to  make  one  in  the  circus 
tent  It  was  chiefly  for  this  reason  that  Burls  wished 
to  return  to  the  "  big  top  " ;  and  it  was  for  thig  reason, 
too,  that  Sutley  wished  to  'emain  on  the  stage. 

"  He  don't  know  that  I  know  why  he 's  doin'  it," 
Sutley  explained  to  the  girl.  "  An'  I  don't  like  to  let 
on.  He 's  pretendin'  it 's  because  he  'd  sooner  be  out  on 
the  road  —  where  we  'd  make  more  money,  he  says,  if 
we  'd  sign  a  contrac'  all  together  —  you  an'  Pop,  an'  me 
an'  him.  I  would  n't  like  'm  to  know  I  was  playin' 
against  him.  But  I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  the  circus, 
if  I  can  help  it." 

Milly  and  he  had  stopped,  on  their  way  from  the 
Amphitheater,  to  rest  on  a  bench  in  Bryant  Park,  where 
the  trees,  in  their  new  green,  spread  their  leaves  against 
the  electric  light  with  an  artificial  vividness  and  trans- 
parency of  color  that  had  the  tone  of  a  stage  setting. 


THE  CLOWNS  m 

She  wag  sitting  up,  stiff-backed  and  defiant  He  was 
nursing  a  sharp  knee  in  his  clasped  hands,  gazing  out 
njder  his  hat-brim  gloomily, 

"'E  don't  consider  your  feelin's,  'En,"  she  told 
Mm. 

"Well,"  he  said,  «  you  know  I  never  cut  much  ice  in 
the  busn^s  till  we  come  here.  He  ain't  been  used  to 
considerin' me.  I  don't  blame  him,  neither.  I  guess 
I  ain't  such  a  much." 

"You're  as  much  as  'e  is,"  she  cried.  "An'  'e 
needn  t  poke  fun  at  you,  anyway.  I  gave  'm  a  good 
bump  fer  that." 

"Per  what?    How?" 

"  Did  n't  you  know  I  shoved  'im  off  the  'orse  ?  " 

"  No  1    What  'd  you  do  that  fer  ? " 

"  Fer  w'at'e  said.     'E 's  too  fresh  by 'alf." 

"  He  don't  mean  anythin'  by  it.  He 's  always  been 
like  that     He 'b  all  right." 

*  "y^^)y  ^f^  '*'*'''  "P  ^^-^  3""*  *^«  ^ay  you  stick  up 
fer  im,  'En."  *^ 

"  I  guess  he  thinks  I  don't  need  it  any  more  then." 
He  shook  his  head.  «  We  been  stickin'  together  a  long 
while.  We  been  through  a  lot  o'  trouble."  He  sat 
thinking  it  over.  "We  were  near  lynched  togetheri 
once,  m  Macon.  They  took  us  fer  a  pair  o'  huckmen 
that  d  been  skinnin'  the  crowd  with  a  shell  game,  out 
on  the  lot  An' when  we  went  into  town  to  get  some 
crackers  an'  cheese  they  foUy'd  us.  They  'd  'a'  lynched 
us  if  It  had  n't  been  fer  some  o'  the  zinc  I  had  in  m' 
ears.    They  would  n't  believe  m  when  we  said  we  wer« 


119 


THE  CLOWNS 


the  clowns  —  until  I  showed  'm  the  make-up  I  had  n't 
washed  out  o'  m'  ears." 

He  smiled  slowly  as  he  added:  "At  first,  when 
Harry  seen  'em  pointin'  us  out  an'  foUyin'  us  up  on  the 
street,  he  thought  we  'd  made  a  hit  He  thought  they 
were  pointin'  us  out  because  we  were  the  clowns." 

"  Served  'im  right,"  she  said.  "  'E  thinks  'e  's  the 
whole  show  now." 

He  did  not  reply  to  her.  He  went  on  with  his 
thoughts :  "  Once,  when  we  got  stranded  in  Kansas,  we 
was  beatin'  our  way  back  to  Chicago,  an'  we  b^ged  a 
couple  o'  handouts  from  a  back  door  an'  went  an'  sat  'n 
under  a  water-tank  waitin'  fer  a  freight  to  come  along  — 
We  drank  the  water  that  dripped  out  o'  the  tank,  too 
—  an'  there  was  a  lot  o'  names  cut  in  the  beams  that  the 
tank  was  on,  an  «rhile  Hany  was  cuttin'  his  name  in 
with  the  rest,  a  big  farmer's  dog  sneaked  up  an'  eat  his 
grub  —  an'  then  he  was  mad  because  I'd  eat  mine 
while  he  was  carvin'  his  name." 

She  made  a  contemptuous  sound  in  her  throat. 

"I  had  m'  arm  broke  comin'  home  —  sleepin'  in 
among  the  lumber  on  a  flat  car,  an'  the  load  shifted 
onto  me  in  the  night  —  an'  Harry  tore  the  back  out  of 
his  shirt  to  make  a  sling  fer  me," 

He  drew  up  his  sleeve  to  bare  his  forearm,  and  sat 
studying  it  for  so  long  a  time  that  she  leaned  forward, 
beside  him,  to  look.  There  was  nothing  that  she  could 
see.  When  he  had  pulled  down  his  cuff  again  he  con- 
cluded: "He's  all  right,  I  guess.  That's  just  his 
way.     He  thinks  he  ought  to  be  clownin'  all  the  tima" 


THE  CLOWNS 


118 


Don  t  you  bolievo  it,  'En,"  Ae  broke  out 
just  uain'  you  the  way  Pop  docs  me.    An'  I  ain't  but  a 
trained  monkey  to  Pop.     'E  don't  treat  mo 


uman. 


It's  a  dawg*8  life;  that's 


can't  even  talk  to  no  one. 
w'at  it  is." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  He 's  scared  you  '11  get  away 
from  h:m."  ^  o  j 

"  'Ow  get  away  from  'im  ?  " 

''  Well,  if  you  was  to  get  married  -  see?  I  guess 
He  s  scared  you  '11  meet  some  one  that  way.  That 's 
the  way  it  was  with  Lally  Dulian  an'  her  maw." 

"  I  got  a  right  to  get  married,  ain't  I  ? " 

"  You  sure  have,  Milly,"  he  said  gently. 

There  was  something  in  his  voice  that  caught  her 
ear.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  sidelong  glance. 
H.S  thm  features,  yellowed  by  the  paints,  wore  the 
blank  look  that  his  profession  had  made  second  nature 
to  him;  but  his  eyes,  thoughtful  and  melancholy,  foed 
on  vacan,^,  gave  his  face  an  expression  of  mute  wist- 
fulness  that  was  almost  ludicrous.  "I  say!"  ahe 
laughed.     "It  ain't  as  bad  as  that,  is  it?" 

He  turned  to  find  her  apparently  mocking  him  with 
her  amusement.  He  replied  with  an  attempted  smile 
that  was  iittle  better  than  a  writhing  of  the  lips-  "  I 
guess  I  'm  a  good  deal  of  a  joke,  ain't  I  ?  Oh   I 

know,"  he  went  on.     "  It 's  paint  yer  face  an'  play  the 
f^^  fer  mws.    I  ain't  kickin'.    They're  right,  all 

He  made  as  if  to  rise.  She  stopped  him  with  a  hand 
on  his  arm.    «  W'at  're  you  talkin'  about  any'ow  ?  » 


lU 


THE  CLOWNS 


"  I  'm  taUtin'  mbont  you."  he  laid  bitterly,  "  an'  me. 
If  I  'd  'a'  been  anythin'  but  a  joke  d'  you  think  Pop  'd 
'a'  let  me  come  with  you  I  Say,  gi'  me  the  laugh.  Go 
on,  I  kind  o'  miss  it" 

She  straightened  her  hat  She  tucked  her  handker- 
chief into  her  cuff.  She  stood  up.  Then  she  said,  loox- 
ing  down  at  him :  "  That 's  w'y  I  bumped  'm  off  the 
'orse  — fer  talkin'  that  way  about  you  an'  me,  .  .  . 
Come  on.     I  'm  gr"  '  'ome." 

"Mill"    He  caught  her  hand  to  hold  her,     "Is  that 

—  is  that  right  ?  " 

Her  fingers  —  the  strong  fingers  of  the  -liroug  woman 

—  closed  on  his  in  a  friendly  pressure  that  crushed  his 
bones.  "  Come  on,  'En,"  she  said.  "  Pop  '11  be  after 
us  if  we  don't  'urry." 

He  replied,  in  the  fervent  voice  of  a  lover:  "  T'  'ell 
with  Pop"— and  drew  her  down  beside  him.  In  a 
moment  the  situation  was  clear  in  his  mind. 

"  ^ '  ^'1."  he  said,  in  a  broken  rush  of  emotion, 

'  if  you  '11  Stan'  by  me  -  I  did  n't  care  where  I  went 
to  before,  ner  what  I  did.  I  'd  'a'  gone  back  with  Harry 
an' give  up.  But  if  you '11  stan' by  me  —  I 'm  on  the 
right  track.  I  know  I  am.  There 's  never  been  a  clown 
—  a  good  one  —  that 's  done  the  knockabout.  It 's  been 
imitatin'  life  with  them  —  the  same  as  with  me.  I  c'n 
make  good.  I  c'n  make  good  without  him  — Rairv. 
You  need  n't  be  ascared  o'  that." 

"  I  'm  not  ascared,"  she  said.     She  asked,  in  another 
tone :    "  Do  you  like  me,  'En  —  much  ?  " 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  as  if  to  get  a  grip  on  his 


"  I  '11  talce  yep  word 


THE  CLOWNS  us 

voice.    »'Mil,»  he  wid,  "  I  ,in't-    The  first  time  I 
•een  yon  — " 

"  All  right,  En,"  she  laughed, 
fer  it" 

"Aw,  don't  make  fun  o'  me,  Mil,"  he  pleaded. 

For  answer  she  leaned  fonvard  and  put  his  arm  be- 
hind her  and  snuggled  up  to  him.  "  Who 's  makin'  fun 
0  you,  you  big  goose  ? "  she  whispered.  Her  face  was 
upturned,  invitingly.  He  wiped  his  mouth  with  the 
back  of  his  hand  before  he  kissed  her -a  fumbling 
clumsy  kiss  that  made  her  laugh  again  with  a  half 
amused  and  wholly  contented  chuckle.  "All  right 
En-shesaid.  "I'm'appy.  Now  w'at 're  y  „£•' 
to  do  with  Pop  ? "  '     " 


The  following  day,  as  Sutley  had  remarked,  was 
Sunday ;  and  m  the  morning  Milly  tried  to  escape  from 
her  father's  surveillance  by  insisting  that  she  must  go 
to  church.     "  Wat  for  ?  " 

«  Because  I  want  to.  It  ain't  agayn  the  law  to  go  to 
church,  I  'ope."  ° 

He  grumbled  that  she  was  always  taking  up  with 
some  cra^  notion  or  other,  but  he  could  not  in  reason 
keep  her  home,  and  he  contented  himself  with  accom- 
panying her  as  far  as  the  church  door. 

She  wore  her  new  spring  hat,  with  a  white  veil,  and 
she  was  as  excited  as  a  bridesmaid.    He  did  not  notice 

^AA^^^  ^r       ®"*''^  **  "  '^''^^  '°^^^'  ""id  Yost 
nodded  curtly,  unaware  of  the  significant  look  with 


t. 


11« 


THE     LOWNS 


^1 


which  Milly  tignaled  her  lover  as  the  went  by.  The 
clown  followed  her  at  a  safe  distance.  He  law  her 
father  leave  her  at  the  church  itops,  and  he  waited 
until  the  old  man  had  turned  the  street  comer.  Th«i 
he  hurried  furtively  to  join  her  where  she  was  awaiting 
him  in  the  vestibule^ 

"  Did  you  get  it  I  "  she  whispered. 

"  Sure  1 "  He  produced,  from  an  upper  pocket  of  hia 
white  waistcoat  a  precious  square  of  paper  that  shook 
in  his  hands  as  he  unfolded  it.  "  The  parson  says  ho  '11 
see  us  after  the  show  in  here 's  over."  He  indicated  the 
muiSed  singing  of  the  congregation  with  .i  jerk  of  the 
head  toward  the  closed  inner  doors  of  the  church. 
"  We  're  to  go  aroun'  to  the  side  somewheres." 

"  'Ow  much  does  'e  want  ? " 

"  Whatever  I  v  ^t  to  give,  he  says."  He  explained 
it  to  her  perplexedly:  "They  don't  have  a  reg'lar 
price." 

She  choked  down  an  excited  gnrgle  of  laughter,  blush- 
ing up  at  him.     "  'Ow  much  d'  you  think  it 's  worth  ?  " 

"  Godl  Milly,"  he  faltered.  "  It  'g  worth  all  I  'II 
ever  make." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  with  a  flippancy  that  was  half  hys- 
terical, "  that  'b  w'at  it 's  goin'  to  cost  you  before  you  're 
done  with  me."  One  of  the  ushers  of  the  church  ap- 
proached them.  "Come  on,"  she  whispered,  taking 
Sutley's  arm.  "  We  might 's  well  see  th'  'ole  perform- 
ance." 

They  went  in  to  their  wedding  like  a  coimtry  couple 
entering  a  side  show. 


THE  CLOWNS 


117 


Meanwhile  her  father,  after  Rtopping  by  the  way  in  a 
aaloon,  relumed  to  the  flat  in  which  he  and  Milly  had 
•pent  the  winter,  and  lat  down  beiide  a  front-room 
window,  in  hia  »hirt-«lpoveg,  to  gmoka  It  was  the  typi- 
cal room  of  a  circus  man's  leisure,  decorated  with  old 
photographs  of  acrobatic  troupes  and  high-wire 
"  artists  "  and  famous  equestriennes  who  smiled  out  of 
yellowing  prints  as  if  they  had  thought  their  long- 
forgotten  charms  would  bloom  there  immortally.  A 
riding  whip,  which  his  wife  had  used,  was  crossed  with 
a  horseshoe  under  a  staring  crayon  portrait  of  her 
wearing  her  "  waterfall "  in  a  chenille  net.  A  tarnished 
gilt  frame  held  the  indenture  of  his  apprenticeship, 
made  when  he  was  six  years  old,  to  a  "  teacher  of  dan- 
cing, gymnastics,  and  theatrical  horsemanship."  The 
man  HFi^d  to  lash  him  with  a  "  lunge  "  whip,  holding 
him  with  a  line  about  the  waist;  and  Yost  remembered 
that  training  when  he  wag  considering  how  best  to  dis- 
cipline his  daughter. 

His  past  was  thick  about  him  — and  he  smoked,  in- 
different to  it  all,  callous  with  age,  and  sleepy.  His 
gray  eyebrows  were  tilted  up  from  the  bridge  of  his  nose 
in  a  harmless  scowl ;  hia  gray  mustache,  professionally 
waxed,  bristled  above  a  mouth  that  drooped  weakly  at 
one  comer  where  the  pipe  weighed  it  down. 

He  was  not  troubled  about  Milly.  He  was  accus- 
tomed to  think  of  her-  is  the  old  person  so  often 
thinks  of  the  young  ou^  — not  as  a  human  being 
with  attributes  and  character,  but  rather  as  a  new  ex- 
ample of  the  known  faults  and  flightinesses  of  youth. 


118 


THE  CLOWNS 


'  'i'-i 


He  considered  that  she  needed  a  proper  display  of  harsh- 
ness on  occasion,  patience  and  a  firm  hand.  He  felt 
that  she  would  understand,  and  appreciate  his  stem 
care  of  her,  as  she  grew  older. 

And  he  was  not  troubled  about  Burls.  He  had  de- 
cided to  "  turn  down  "  that  too  friendly  adviser.  He 
considered  himself  "too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  by 
chaff."  If  there  was  more  money  to  be  made  out  of 
Milly's  act  with  a  circus,  he  and  Milly  were  going  to 
make  it  themselves.  He  was  able  to  attend  to  that. 
Burls  could  make  his  own  contracts,  and  he  and  Milly 
would  make  theirs. 

^  He  blinked  drowsily,  satisfied  with  himself,  with  his 
circumstances,  with  life  in  general.  The  sun  was 
bright;  the  children  were  playing  in  the  street;  a  Ger- 
man servant  was  singing  and  clattering  dishes  in  the 
kitchen.  He  would  have  a  good  dinner  when  Milly 
came  back,  and  then  he  would  settle  down  for  a  quiet 
Sunday  afternoon,  undisturbed.     So  — 

He  put  his  pipe  on  the  window-sill  and  lay  back  in 
his  chair  to  have  a  snooze. 

He  waa  wakened  by  the  sound  of  voices.  The  serv- 
ant had  come  to  the  front  door  in  reply  to  the  bell  that 
had  rung  in  the  kitchen.  He  opened  his  eyes,  blink- 
ing. Burls  was  entering  with  a  genial  smile,  and  Yost, 
because  he  had  been  disturbed,  scowled  at  the  intruder! 
Burls  accepted  the  scowl  with  a  beaming  good  nature. 
"Takin'iteasy.eh?  That's  right.  I  been  seein' them 
down  at  the  Gardt  j  about  that  contrac'."  He  had  be- 
gun to  Bit  down,  and  tLoagh  Yost  put  in  curtly:    "  I 


THE  CLOWNS 


■  r 


119 

.lon't  want  a  contract;  I  'm  goin'  to  stay  Vere  I  am," 
BuTh  lowered  himself  into  the  armchair  and  nodded  as 
if  this  reply  did  not  in  any  way  change  the  situa- 
tion. 

"  Don't  want  it,  eh  ?    Got  somethin'  better  ?  " 

"  We  stay  w'ere  we  are." 

"Uh-huh?  Well,  I  don't  know  but  what  you're 
wise.  I  was  on'y  int'rested  in  goin'  on  account  o'  Mil. 
This  chorus  girl  life  ain't  exactly  the  right  soil  to  bring 
up  a  girl  like  her,  d'  yuh  think  ?  That 's  the  way  I  feel 
about  It  anyway.  I  'm  kind  o'  soft  about  her."  He 
looked  up  at  the  wall,  smiling.  «  She 's  a  mighty  fine 
girl,  MiUy  is.  I  don't  like  to  think  o'  her  gettin'  mixed 
up  with  any  o'  them  Willies  that  hang  aroun'  the  stage- 
door."  " 

"  I  can  see  to  that." 

"  Mebbe  you  're  right.  But  I  been  thinkin'  now  - 
bhe  11  be  gettin'  married,  some  day,  won't  she?  She 
was  talkin'  about  it  las'  night.  An'  I  been  thinkin' 
what  8  the  matter  with  givin'  one  of  us  a  chanct  -  some 
one  that 's  in  the  bus'ness  with  you  ?  You  can't  keep 
her  like  she  was  in  a  nunn'ry.  She  '11  get  away  from 
you  sure.  That 's  human  nature.  What 's  the  matter 
with  givin'  me  a  show  ?  "  He  was  talking  now  with  the 
most  evident  earnestness.  "  I  'm  soft  on  the  girl  I 
like  her -an'  I  don't  know  that  she  don't  like  me. 
If  you  11  gi'  me  a  leg  up,  I  can  make  it." 

Tost  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  gesture  of  uncon- 
trollable impatience.  "Leave  us  alone!  Leave  us 
alone  1    Mmd  yer  own  bus'ness,  will  you  ?    I  can  make 


^  1 


120 


THE  CLOWNS 


me  own  contracts.  I  can  look  -ifter  me  own  daughter." 
Ho  checked  himself  on  the  sound  of  her  voice  in  the 
hallway.  "  Don't  you  be  puttin'  notions  into  'er  'ead 
now,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "  or  by  — " 

"  That 's  all  right,"  Burls  smiled.     "  Think  it  over." 
The     door     opened     before     her  —  and     Sutley. 
"  'EUo!  "  she  said  gaily.     "  'Ere  's  'En  come  to  have 
dinner  with  us." 

Sutley  came  in,  very  red  and  guilty.  And  Burls, 
looking  over  his  shoulder  in  surprise,  caught  his  part- 
ner's expression  and  turned  in  his  chair,  drawn  around 
by  the  expectation  of  he  did  not  know  what. 

Milly  added,  as  she  took  off  her  hat:  "  'E  'as  some- 
thing to  tell  you." 

Yost  said :  "  Somethin'  to  w'at  ? " 
Sutley  shifted  his  feet  heavily,  and  then  looked  down 
at  them  as  if  he  had  expected  to  find  them  the  false 
ones  that  he  wore  on  the  stage.  "  You  see,"  he  began 
inconsequentially,  «  Milly  an'  me  did  n't  want  to  go  back 
to  the  circus.  She  don't  like  it  there  any  more  'n  I  do 
—  an'  I  never  out  much  ice  'n  under  canvas.  I  c'n 
make  more  money  where  I  am.  They  '11  give  us  a  con- 
trac'— Buris  an'  me  — fer  a  hunderd  an'  fifty  apiece 
fer  three  years  to  stay  on  where  we  are." 

"  W'at  the  bl 's  that  got  to  do  with  me?  "  Yost 

demanded. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Milly  an'  me,  we  did  n't  want  to  go 

back,  an'  Milly  said  she  'd  stan'  by  ma     An' " 

"You'reatit,  too,  areyou?"     He  swallowed  wrath- 
ily.     "  You  can  get  out  o'  'ere  an'  mind  yer  own  affairs. 


THE  CLOWNS 


121 


I  'II  look  to  me  own  bus'ness  without  any  'elp  neither 
from  you  ner  Burls." 

"  'Or  on  now,  Pop,"  Milly  interfered.  She  nudged 
Sutley.     "  Go  on  an'  tell  'im." 

She  closed  the  door  behind  her  to  shut  off  the  servant. 

Sutley  gulped.  "  We  —  we  got  married  this  mom- 
in'." 

He  did  not  look  up  to  see  Yost's  expression,  but  the 
silence  in  the  little  room  was  itself  an  accusing  gape  of 
amazement.  He  continued  apologetically :  "  You  see, 
she  did  n't  want  to  go  back  to  the  circus,  an'  I  did  n't. 
She  wanted  to  stay  in  the  flat  instead  o'  knockin'  aroun' 
on  the  road  —  so  we  thought  we  'd  jus'  stan'  by  each 
other  that  way  —  an'  see  if  we  couldn't  fix  it  up 
afterwards."  His  voice  faded  away  in  an  unintelligi- 
ble mumble. 

The  old  man  had  half  risen  from  his  chair,  as  open- 
mouthed  as  Pantomime,  his  eyes  fixed  in  a  staring 
speechlessness  on  his  daughter.  She  was  unconscious 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  busily  shaking  out  her  veil  and 
folding  it  in  a  trembling  excitement. 

"Milly!" 

She  shook  her  head,  without  looking  at  him.  "  I  'ad 
a  right  to  get  married.  I  'ave  a  right  to  live  as  well  as 
other  people." 

And  suddenly  Burls,  bringing  his  hand  down  with  a 
smack  on  his  knee,  broke  out  in  an  echoing  guffaw,  and 
lay  back  in  his  chair  shouting  his  laughter,  open- 
mouthed,  his  eyes  shut. 

Yost  sprang  to  his  feet.    "  You  let  'im  take  you  in 


122 


THE  CLOWNS 


I  '  ' 


!r 


with  a  lie  like  that?  'Im!  'Im  an' this  other  one  I  " 
He  pointed  at  Burls,  his  hand  shaking.  He  shook  his 
fist  at  Sutley,  sputtering  Cockney  oaths.  "  The  two  o' 
them!     That 's  w'at  they 've  been  up  to !  " 

Burls  bellowed  «Ho-ho-hoI"  convulsed  and  help- 
less, unable  to  defend  himself  though  Yost,  in  a  dancing 
rage,  kicked  at  his  legs  and  shouted:  "  Look  at  'iinl 
look  at  'iml  Because  you  've  made  a  fool  of  yerself 
—  married !  " 

The  girl  screamed  through  the  uproar :  "  W'at 's  the 
matter  with  'im?    W'at 's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

Her  father  turned  on  her.     "  You  d little I 

You  'd  make  a  fool  o'  me.  would  you  ? "     He  raised 
his  fist  at  her.     She  darted  behind  Sutley. 

And  Sutley  — who  had  been  standing  quiet  in  the 
midst  of  the  confusion,  listening,  solemnly  intent  — 
foced  the  father  with  an  expression  of  disturbed  pity. 
Yost  was  opening  and  shutting  his  mouth  on  an  anger 
that  was  choked  in  breathlessness  —  caught  suddenly 
with  pain  in  the  heart  —  threatening  the  clown  with 
his  raised  fist  that  remained  checked  in  mid-air. 

"That's  all  right,  now,"  Sutley  said.  «I  don't 
want  none  o'  what  she  earns.  You  needn't  get  — 
Mil  1  "  " 

The  old  man  had  collapsed,  and  Sutley,  with  tha'.  ciy 
to  the  girl,  caught  him  as  he  tottered.  "  Get 's  a  drink 
quick." 

Burls  vm  still  sobbing  with  the  exhaustion  of  laugh- 
ter, even  when  he  dragg-d  himself  to  his  feet  to  assist 
them.     They  laid  Yost  back  i:.  the  chair  from  which 


THE  CLOWNS  133 

Burls  had  risen,  and  Milly  struck  the  sniggering  clown 
an  angiy  cuflF  on  the  head  to  silence  him.  He  threw 
up  his  elbow  to  shield  himself,  hysterically  weak.  She 
thrust  him  away  from  them.  He  stumbled  and  fell  into 
another  chair,  where  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
limp. 

"  Get  'm  a  drink,"  Sutley  pleaded,  trying  to  fan  the 
old  man  with  his  open  hands,  and  apolc^zing  frantic- 
ally: "  That 's  all  right,  now.  It  need  n't  make  no 
diffrence  to  you  an'  Milly.  I  c'n  earn  enough  fer  her 
an'  me,  an'  you  o'n  have  what  she  makes.  You  need  n't 
mind  me  aroun'.  It 's  natural  fer  her  to  want  to  get 
married,  an'  it 's  better  fer  her  to  marry  some  one  in 
the  bus'ness." 

Yost  roused  himself  to  a  sort  of  expiring  gesture  of 
contempt  and  fell  back  gasping. 

"  It  need  n't  make  no  diffrence  to  you,"  Sutley  kept 
on,  "  Buris  had  n't  nothin'  to  do  with  it.  We  did  it 
so  we  would  n't  have  to  go  back  to  the  circus.  That 
need  n't  make  no  diflfrence  to  you.  You  need  n't  get 
mad  about  it." 

His  feeble  gestures,  his  anxious  tone,  his  expression 
of  awkward  solicitude  —  all  were  unconsciously  clown- 
ish and  laughable.  And  when  Milly  came  back  with  a 
bottle  and  a  gLiss,  she  put  him  aside,  in  a  sort  of  dis- 
tracted perception  of  his-  absurdity.  She  poured  a 
drink  for  her  father  and  held  it  to  his  lips.  He  looked 
up  at  Sutley  in  a  weak  disgust  that  would  have  ex- 
pressed itself  plaintively  if  it  could  have  expressed  it- 
self at  all. 


I   I 


124 


THE  CLOWNS 


1,^ 


Aa  soon  as  he  found  his  voice,  he  said :  "  Take  'im 
away.     Take  'im  away  from  me." 

"  JSTow,  look  'ere,  Pop,"  she  replied.     «  You  behaw 

yerself.    'E  never  would  'a'  married  me  at  all  if  I 

ad  n't  asked  'im.     You  behave  yerself.     You're  a 

disgrace  to  the  fam'ly."    And  it  was  evident  from  her 

manner  that  she  and  Sutley  were  «  the  fam'ly." 

It  was  the  servant  who  ended  the  scene  — and  re- 
called them  all  to  the  proprieties  -  by  putting  her  head 
m  the  door  to  announce :    "  'S  retty  —  dinner  I  " 

It  was  through  Burls,  of  course,  that  the  story  be- 
came public.  He  still  tells  it  with  roars  of  laughter- 
and  he  is  most  effective  when  he  describes  how  Sutley 
announced  to  old  Yost  that  Milly  and  he  were  married 
and  Yost  attacked  the  clown  with  his  ringmaster's  whip. 
Ibis  IS  almost  as  good  as  his  other  story  of  how  he  and 
Sutley  were  nearly  lynched  in  Macon,  once,  and  he 
saved  Sutley  and  himself  by  sending  the  mob  into  con- 
Tulsions  of  laughter  with  his  clowning.  He  is  truly 
a  romantic  artist. 

He  does  not  tell  that  he  was,  in  his  own  way,  almost 
as  Boft"  on  Milly  as  Sutley  was.  The  only  hint  he 
ever  gives  of  it  is  when  he  says,  disgustedly:  « I  tell 
you  what 's  lie  whole  trouble  with  women:  they  got  no 
sense  o'  humor.  They  don't  even  know  good  clownin' 
when  they  see  it.  They  're  too  danged  matter-of-fact." 
And  Sutley,  funnier  than  ever  ..nd  more  successful 
than  ever,  continues  to  work  at  his  clowning  with  all 
the  seriousness  of  a  Russian  realist.    «  No  good  clown  " 


THE  CLOWNS  m 

he  iMista,  "ever  did  the  knockabout  It's  been  imi- 
tatm'  hfe  with  them,  the  same  as  me.  Now,  take  that 
baby  act  I  do,  with  the  doll :  I  got  that  from  my  own 
hd,  straight  The  wife  didn't  like  it,  at  first - 
makm'  fun  o'  the  youngster  -  but  she's  all  right  now 
It  s  a  hit  No,  she  don't  work  any  more.  She  an' 
Pop  look  after  the  kid." 


11 

I' 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 

MRS.  CREGAN  wept,  and  her  tears  were 
ludicrous.  She  was  as  fat  as  a  Falstaff.  Her 
features  were  as  ill-suited  for  the  expression  of  grief  as 
a  circus  clown's.  She  had  not  even  a  channel  in  her 
plump  cheeks  to  drain  the  tears  from  her  eyes;  and  the 
slow  drops,  largo  and  unctuous,  trickled  aown  her 
round  jowls  and  soaked  into  her  bonnet-strings,  leav- 
ing her  cheeks  as  fresh  and  as  ruddy  in  the  sunlight  as  if 
they  had  been  merely  wet  with  perspiration.  Her  eyes 
stared,  unpuckored,  apparently  unconscious  that  they 
wept.  Her  mouth  was  tight  in  an  expression  of  re- 
sentful determination.  Only  her  little  round  chin 
trembled  —  like  a  child's. 

Yet  Mrs.  Cregan  was  as  nearly  heart-broken  as  she 
had  ever  been  in  her  life.  She  was  leaving  her  hus- 
band. What  was  more  grievous  to  her,  she  was  leav- 
ing her  home.  She  was  on  the  streets  of  New  York, 
with  her  small  savings  in  her  greasy  purse  —  clasped 
tightly  in  her  two  hands  under  her  Sunday  cape  that 
was  trimmed  with  fringe  and  tassels  like  a  lambrequin. 
She  did  not  know  where  to  go.  There  was  no  one  to 
whom  she  could  turn  for  aid,  and  she  would  not  go  to 
any  one  for  pity.  Behind  her  was  the  wreck  of  a 
breakfast  table  — the  visible  symbol  of  her  ruined 
home  — with  a  cursing  Irishman,  whom  nobody  could 

129 


ISO 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


.how  yeh  who.e  ho«e  it  i.|  I'll  .how  yehl  I'll 
b«U  er-r,.  d.ng  thing  in  the  pl.oel»  Before  her 
3  ^^-V^'*^  ''r'^'  of  -hat  had  once  been  Green- 
w,ch  V  Uage,  ..quiet  „  ,  j^.^,  and  a.  indifferent,  in 

^^^^"^Z"  '"''"'*'  -"''  •''""^-'^  ^''''°- 

The  domeatio  peace  of  tho«,  old  strocta  made  her  own 

tTtr""  S  '^"^  ^'*''"^  *"  ^--     She  felt  as  ahe 
ttnlTi*'°"'~^^*^*^^°«-»'^  J"'' childhood, 

horradly  from  the  water,  with  a  desolate,  wet  sea-odor- 
T^Tr^'f^^'  """''^f^'  °°  ^^^  fields  and  the 
S  '^Jr  v1  *^'  '""'  '""^  '^"  '"'^  "  lodging  for 
With  and  dajhght  to  the  darkness  of  a  death-bej  Thl 
future  had  threatened  her  with  the  terron,  of  an  nn! 
b.own  world  The  past,  despite  its  poverty  and  star- 
vation, had  been  as  dear  as  Ufa     She  hadTnffered  a  1 

de  f  t!  r  "^Z^"'"^  '"""^  ^^"^  ''«''^«'»°'»  has  made 

brl       r\"l'  ^'^  *^'  ^"«'''  f'^'l'-'rit/  does  not 
breed  contempt,  but  affection. 

She  suffered  these  same  miseries  now.     She  saw  her 

home  through  tears  of  regret  -  though  unhappinrhad 

dnven  her  from  it.    And  her  lips  were  set  in  a  deter 

^l^r     ""'f  ."'  ^'""^'^  '''  *^«  determination. 

Some  distance  behmd  her  came  a  smaller  woman,  as 
shrunken,  «.  withered,  and  as  yellow  as  an  old  kaf 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  isi 

Em  W  ihoo.  leemed  to  have  dried  and  •hriveled 
•ruriang  up  .t  the  toe..  And  .he  fluttered  along  in  the 
Lght  mornang  b,««e,  holding  back  ag«in.t  itTon  her 
heel.,  with  an  odd  effect  of  being  carried  forward  f..ter 
than  .he  wi.hed  to  go. 

She  wa.  Mr..  Byrne,  from  the  floor  below  Mr..  Cre- 
gan^  flat  and  she  had  been  starting  out  on  a  .ec;et  eT 
rand  of  her  own  when  .he  heard  the  quar«l  overhead 

gl.ng  between  her  de.ire  to  reach  the  next  street  un««n 
^Mn,.  CnBgan  and  her  desire  to  know  what  had  hap 

.Tot"  "*"  '"'•    """  ^™'^  ^'''^'^  * '« 

She  let  the  wind  blow  her  alongside  her  friend'. 

portly  de.pa.r.     She  .aid,  i„  the  hoarse  whisper  thaj 

eyes.       Choorch?"  she  said,  on  the  plaintiveness  of 
a  high  note  that  broke  in  her  throat. 

"ruh're  ciyin',  woman  I »  Mrs.  Byrne's  look  of 
craftme«  changed  at  once  to  one  of  JZI  d'w 

Come  back  out  o'  this  with  yuh."  She  caught  Mrs. 
Cregan's  arm.  "  It 's  no  thing  to  be  doin'  on  the  str^U 
Come  back,  now.     Where 're  yuh  goin' ? " 

r^JlZ^T""^^'^  '*°"*^'y  "^^''d  «"d  carried  her 
neighbor  with  her.     "  I 've  quit 'm  » 

"Quit  who?" 
"Himsilf.  .  .  .  Dinny." 


liJ 


183  THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 

Mrs.  Byrne  expressed  her  emotion  and  showed  her 
tact  by  silently  comprising  her  lips. 

"  I  've  quit  'im,  fer  good  an'  all."  She  stroked  a  tear 
down  her  cheek  with  a  thick  forefinger.  « I  'U  niver 
go  back  to 'im.    Niver  I" 

"Come  away  with  yuh,  Mary  Cregan,"  Mrs.  Byrne 
cned,m  her  breathy  huskiness.  "At  your  age  I  Faith, 
yuh  re  as  flighty  as  one  o'  them  girls  with  the  pink  silk 
petticoats.  He'8yourhusban',ain'the?  D' yuh  think 
yuh  were  married  over  the  broomstick  ?  Come  an'  be- 
have yerself  like  a  decent  woman.  What'd  Father 
Dumphy  say  to  this,  think  yuh  ?  " 

"  He 's  a  man.  I  know  what  he  'd  say.  He  'd  tell 
me  to  go  back  to  Cregan.    I '11  niver  go  back.     Niver  I » 

Yuh  won't t    What '11  yuh  do,  then?    Where 'U 
yuh  go  to  ?  " 

"I '11  niver  go  back.  Niver!  He 's  broke  me  best 
chmy.  An'  kicked  the  1^  off  the  chair.  An'  over- 
toorned  the  table.  An'  ordered  me  out  o'  the  little  bit 
o  homo  I  been  all  these  years  puttin'  together  The 
teapot  th'  ol'  man  brought  from  Ireland  —  the  very  tea- 
pot-smashed to  smithereens!  An'  the  little  white 
dishes  with  the  gilt  trimmin's  I  had  to  me  weddin'  day 
Mrs.  Bynie!  There  was  the  poor  thing,  all  broke  to 
tats  I  She  stopped  to  point  at  the  sidewalk  as  if 
the  wreckage  lay  there  before  her.  "AH  me  little  bit 
BofS!'^""'"-    ^"°^^*'^-=^-     EVrybit! 

Her  tears  choked  her.     She  could  not  express  the 
piercing  irreparability  of  the  injury.    It  would  not 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  133 

have  been  so  bad  if  he  had  beaten  her;  a  hurt  will  heal. 
But  the  innocent,  wee  cups  —  and  the  fat  old  brown 
teapot  —  and  the  sweet  little  chair  with  its  pretty  legs, 
carved  and  turned  so  daintily!  She  had  washed  them 
and  wiped  them,  and  dusted  and  polished  them,  and 
been  so  careful  of  them  and  felt  so  proud  of  them,  for 
twenty  years  past.  And,  now,  there  they  were  lying, 
all  in  bits  —  past  mending  —  gone  forever.  And  they 
BO  pretty  and  so  harmless. 

The  crash  as  they  fell  on  the  floor  had  sounded  in 
her  ears  like  the  scream  of  a  child  murdered. 

^  She  started  forward  again,  determinedly.  "  I  'U 
niver  go  back  to  'm.  He  can  have  his  house  to  himsilf. 
.  .  .What  do  I  care  far  Father  Dumphy?  He  wants 
nothin'  but  the  dime  I  leaves  at  the  chooreh  doore,  an' 
the  dime  I  drops  on  the  plate!  Whin  me  poorse 's 
impty,  he'll  not  bother  his  head  about  me!  " 

"Shame  bra  yuhl"  Mrs.  Byrne  wheezed,  with  her 
eye  on  the  house  she  was  passing.  "  Tub  talk  no  better 
than  a  Prod'stunt." 

"  An'  if  I  was  a  Prod'stint,"  she  cried,  "  I  'd  not  have 
to  pay  money  iv'ry  time  I  wanted  to  hear  mass.  I  'd 
not  be  out  on  the  street  here,  not  knowin'  where  I  'm 
goin'  to,  ner  how  I  'm  to  live.  It 's  ilim  that  knows 
how  to  take  care  o'  their  own  —  givin'  the  women  worrk, 
an'  takin'  the  childer  off  to  the  farrms,  an'  all  the  like 
o' that.     You  Dogans — " 

Mrs.  Byrne  glanced  about  her  fearfuUy,  «  Stop  yer 
talk,  now.  Stop  yer  talk.  Stop  it  before  some  one  hears 
yuh  makin'  a  big  fool  o'  yerself." 


rJ 


I 


184 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


if 

li! 


1  m  gom  off  from  here  fer  good  an'  all  'T  wiU  know 
r  "°  r*:^-,,  '^  wiU  not  I  -^  done  with  it  all  I 'm 
donewxth^t."  She  held  ont  her  purse.  "I'veeotm^ 
bU  o'  money  I  'U  hire  me  a  little  room  upto^^I  Z 
M^rl  A-  an'  Father  Dumph,  an'  th!  wSe  da^ 
iotoyui     Slavm' an' savin' fer  nothin' at  all     I-n 

ner  the  ehooroh  ner  no  one  ilse  '11  get  a  pemiy's  i^ 
o  me  no  mor^  I  got  no  one  in  the  widrworrld  but 
mesjlf  to  look  to,  an'  I  'U  go  it  alone." 

Zr^  T/'^/y«'^«'7  deep  in  their  wrinkleB,  her 
wC  W??,""*  °'  *«  perpendicular,  her 'long 

-enriiraXai'^^^-^^^^""^---^ 
Seeing  that  M«.  Cregan  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
shame  or  the  appeal  of  the  priest,  she  eaidr«^U  I 
don't  blame  yuh,  woman.  Cregan '«  a  fo^l  rt  ,i 
the  rest  o'  the  men.    An'  v^rjf    I  .     ^®  "" 

Well  well!    vT  ^       * ""'''  *  S^  manager. 

wisttul.    Where  will  yuh  be  goin'?" 
I  dunno." 
"  Have  yuh  had  yer  breakfast  ? " 
Mrs.  Cregan  shook  her  head. 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


185 


"  ST^  }^^'  ^^^'  '"^'  l>«^e  » tite  with  me." 
Nivepl    I'Univergobaek." 

th^?;  l^T  "^"''"^  ''P  ^''  ^'"'^'-    "Come  aloi^ 

cZ  ;»,  ^°  '™''*"'  *°  *■"*«  °"«  °'  those  batter 

Ltgh."  ^  maie  ,n  the  restr'unt  windahs,  this  Io,>g 

"  Yuh  Ve  ate  yer  breakfast." 

"  I  have  not,"  Mrs.  Byrne  replied.    « I  was  off  to 
tho  grocer  f  -  buy  son>e  sugar  when  yuh  stopped Te'^ 

It  was  a  he.     She  had,  in  fact,  started  out,  Secretly 

on  a  guJty  errand  that  she  should  not  acknowl^  ^' 

n  s  a  lonely  meal  I'd  've  been  havin'," Z^,aid. 

on  h  J  ^T  '^^  «*  ^«  ^«-  house  an'  the  boy  off 

Avenue  without  more  words.     They  paused  before  a 

cS"T:r    *^«*,  f^----l    i'«    "Su^t'ng 
i^otfee     m  white^ame'  letters  on  its  shop-front  wi^ 


It  was  the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Byrne  had  ever  sat 
down  :n  any  public  restaurant,  exceptVe  eatingLls  a 

o'S^tL^re^ltl— ;;-;^^^ 

.la^c^  about  her,rttSwi!:L'2.oot;wS 


136 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


a  furtiveness  that  was  none  the  less  critical  for  being 

so  sly. 

"  It 's  eatin'  in  a  bathroom  we  are,"  she  whispered. 
"  An'  will  yuh  look  at  the  cup  yonder.  The  sides  of  it 
are  that  thick  there  'a  scarce  room  f er  the  coffee  in  it  1 
Well,  well!  It  do  beat  the  Dutch !  They 're  drawin' 
the  drink  out  of  a  boiler  big  enough  fer  wash-day." 

The  approach  of  a  waitress  silenced  her.  When  she 
saw  that  Mrs.  Cregan  was  not  going  to  speak,  she  looked 
up  at  the  girl  with  a  bargain-counter  keennctc.  "  Have 
y'  any  pancakes  fit  t'  eat?  .  .  .  How  much  are  they? 
.  .  .  Ten  cents  1  Fer  how  many  3  .  .  .  Fer  three  pan- 
cakes ?  Fer  three  I  D'  yuh  hear  that  ?  "  she  appealed 
to  Mrs.  Cregan.  "  Come  home  with  me,  that's  a  good 
woman.  It 's  a  sin  to  pay  it  Three  cents  fer  a  pan- 
cake. Aw,  come  along  out  o'  this.  Ten  cents!  We 
c'u'd  get  two  loaves  o'  bread  fer  the  money,  an'  live  on 
'em  fer  a  week!" 

But  Mrs.  Cregan  was  beyond  practicalities,  and  she 
ordered  her  buckwheat  cakes  and  coffee  with  an  air  that 
was  mournfully  distrain  Mrs.  Byrne  made  a  vain  at- 
tempt to  get  her  own  cakes  from  the  waitress  for  five 
cents,  and  then  resigned  herself  to  the  senseless  ex- 
travagance. 

"  Yuh  '11  not  make  yer  own  livin'  an'  eat  the  likes 
o'  this,"  she  grumbled  asthmatically.  "  Yuh  'd  better 
be  savin'  yer  money." 

Mrs.  Cregan  was  looking  at  the  thick  chinu  with  a 
sort  of  aggrieved  despondence.  It  was  almost  the  ex- 
pression of  a  bereaved  mother  looking  at  one  of  her 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  137 

neighbov's  children  and  thinking  it  a  healthy,  ugly  brat 
whom  nobody  would  have  missedl  She  stared  at  the 
bare  walk  and  the  bare  tables  of  the  restaurant,  and 
found  the  place,  by  comparison  with  her  own  cozy  flat 
as  unhomehke  an  the  waiting-room  of  a  railroad  station 
-  the  waiting-room  of  a  railroad  station  when  you  have 
Baid  ^od-by  to  your  past  and  the  train  has  not  yet 
arrived  to  carry  you  to  your  future. 

the'^nlir/'T';^"'  "''"^  ''^"^  *<*  ^'''  «^«  »>«"'  over 
the  plate  to  hide  a  tear  that  trickled  down  her  nose. 

It  BPj«sh^  on  the  piece  of  food  that  she  raised  to  her 
month.     She  ate  it  —  tear  and  all. 

"  A^'  them  no  bigger  than  the  top  of  a  tomato  can !  " 
Mrs.  ilyme  was  muttering. 

Mrs.  Cregan  ate,  and  the  food  helped  to  stop  her 
teaw.     It  was  the  strong  coffee,  at  last,  that  brought  her 

got  drunk,  she  said,  wiping  her  cheeks  with  her  napkin. 
itaJriV^rr-'^^*"^"-  ^— "^-tetake 
"They're  no  more  than  children,"  Mrs.  Byrne  re- 
plied, "an'  they  're  to  be  treated  as'such.  sTre  C^ 
gan  could  n't  live  without  yuh.  He  'd  have  no  batons 
to  his  pants  in  a  week." 

^Z1^^'^^"  ^T  ^'■'^''''  *'"^-     "I^«r  «-<=«  the 

hT's  «1  M  J^™,^""^/y  P'^P^'^  '-e  toomed  his  head. 
He  s  all  blather  about  his  rights  an'  his  wrongs.  Th' 
other  moomin'  did  n't  I  tiy  to  get  on  his  bus  f^om  the 
wrong  side  o'  the  crossin',  an'  he  bawls  at  me-     '  Th' 


138 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


other  side  I  Th'  other  side!  Yuh're  no  better  than 
any  one  ilse! '  Am'  I  had  to  chase  through  the  mud 
after  him  t  The  little  wizened  runt  I  He 's  talkin' like 
an  amachist  1  An'  that 's  why  he  smashed  me  dish- 
He  '11  have  no  one  say  '  No '  to  him.  .  ,  .  Ah,  Mrs. 
Byrne,  niver  marry  a  man  older  than  yersilf." 

"  Thank  yuh,"  Mrs.  Byrne  replied  with  hoarse  sar- 
casm. "  I  'm  not  likely  to,  at  my  age."  She  added, 
consolingly :  "  Cr^gan  's  young  fer  his  years.  Drivin' 
a  rift'  Avenah  bus  is  fine,  preservin',  outdoor  work." 

"It  is  thai  I"  And  Mrs.  Cregan's  tone  remarked 
that  the  fact  was  the  more  to  be  deplored,  "  He  '11  be 
crankier  an'  crabbeder  the  older  he  grows."  She  dipped 
to  her  coffee  and  swallowed  hard. 

Mrs.  Byrne  had  screwed  up  her  eyes  to  squint  at  an 
idea  that  could  not  well  be  looked  in  the  face.  When 
she  spoke  it  was  to  say  slyly:  "God  forbid  I  But 
they  do  go  off  sometimes  in  a  puff.  He  looks  as  if  he  'd 
live  fer  long  enough,  thank  Heaven.  But  yuh  never 
can  tell." 

Mrs.  Cregan  held  her  hand  for  a  moment,  and  then 
began  hastily  to  fill  her  mouth  with  food.  The  silence 
that  ensued  was  long  enough  to  take  on  an  appearance 
of  guilt. 

It  was  long  enough,  too,  for  Mrs.  Byrne  to  "  contrive 
a  procedure." 

"  Yuh  never  can  tell,"  she  began,  "  unless  yuh  have 
doin's  with  the  devil  —  like  them  gipsies  that  see  what 's 
comin'  by  lookin'  in  the  flat  o'  yer  hand.  There 's  one 
o'  them  aroun'  the  comer,  an'  they  say  she  told  Minnie 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  139 

Doyle  the  namo  o'  the  man  she  was  to  many.  An'  he 
married  her,  at  that ! "  J'        "  "e 

Mrs.  Cregan  looked  blank. 

t^Tt  n"  T  r'  ^"'  y«'««lf-but  it  was  her 
told  Mrs.  Gmn  that  her  last  was  to  be  a  boy.  A  good 
-onth  ah«.dl  An'  when  she  saw  it  was  t^e  sheC 
no  peace  o  mind  till  she  heard  the  priest  say  the  words 
over  the  poor  child  an'  saw  that  the  sprinkle  o'  holy 

ThoTst':^'  '"'"^ ''  "^  ""^^  ^ ''  '^^^'^  ^'  - 
«w^;^?i:s:X3''^''"^^^«^'''^"^^ 

"An'  If  I  was  yerself,  Mrs.  Cregan -not  knowin' 
where  I  was  to  go  to,  ner  how  I  was  to  live- 1  'd  go 
«^  have  a  talk  with  her  before  I  went  further,  d'ynh 

"  God  forbid  1    'T  is  a  mortal  sin." 

"  T  is  not  When  I  told  Father  Dumphy  what  I  'd 
done  he  called  me  an  oP  fool  an'  gave'me  an  Ltry 
litany  fer  penance.     What 's  a  litany !  " 

"  I  'd  be  scared  o'  me  life  I  " 

Tlf)ilI"^T  ^^"'"^''W  with  me.  Iwasgoin'. 
I  got  troubles  o' me  own.  Never  mind  that.  There's 
nothintobescaredof.    Nothin' at  all    No  one '11  see 

kn^ws  iS?^°  '""'^'  ""^^'^  '^'  '^''  «'^'  -  -« 

m 
It  was  a  good  half  hour  later  that  Mrs.  Byrne  entc.Bd 
the    reception  rooms  "  of  Madame  Wampa,  "  clairvoy 


140 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


'^ 


ant,  palmirt  and  card-reader,"  with  the  propitiatory 
smile  of  the  woman  who  knows  she  is  doing  wrong  but 
M  prepared  to  argue  that  there  is  "  no  great  harm  into 
It."  And  she  was  followed  hy  Mrs.  Cregan,  still  re- 
luctant, stiU  guilty,  but  with  a  sort  of  reverential  awe, 
as  if  she  were  an  altai-boy  who  had  been  persuaded  to 
join  m  some  mischievous  trespass  on  the  sanctuary. 

Madame  Wampa  received  them,  professionally  inso- 
lent in  her  indifference. 

Mrs.  Byrne  explained  that  she  wanted  only  a  "  small 
card  reading  "  for  twenty-five  cents. 
Madame  Wampa  said  curtly:    "  Sit  down." 
They  sat  down. 

Madame  Wampa  had  been  a  music-hall  singer  when 
her  husband  was  a  sleight-of-hand  artist,  "  the  Great 
Malino,  the  Wizard  of  Milan."  Her  voice  had  long 
since  left  her.  She  had  nothing  of  her  beauty  but  its 
yeUow  ruins.  And  her  life  was  made  up  of  two  great 
grievances  — first,  that  her  husband  was  always  idle, 
and  second  that  her  landlord  overcharged  her  for  her 
rooms  because  of  the  nature  of  her  business. 

She  saw  nothing  in  Mrs.  Byrne  and  Mrs.  Cregan 
but  their  obvious  inability  to  help  her  largely  in  pay- 
ing her  rent.  She  said:  "  I  give  a  full  trance  readin', 
with  names,  dates,  an'  aU  questions  answered  for  a 
do  lar,  or  a  full  card  readin'  for  fifty  cents.  You  can't 
tell  much  for  a  quarter." 
Mrs.  Byrne  shook  her  head. 

Madame  Wampa  said  "  Very  well,"  in  a  tone  of 
haughty  resignation.     She  turned  to  a  booth  that  had 


I. 

THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  ui 

been  made  of  a  turkey-red  chintz,  in  one  comer  of  the 
room  and  lit  a  small  red  lamp  and  sat  down  before  a 
little  bamboo  table.  A  toy  angel,  from  a  ChriBtmas 
tree  hung  above  her.  A  stuffed  alligator  sat  up,  on  its 
hmd  legs  beside  her  -  a  porcelain  bell  hung  on  a  red 
ribbon  about  its  neck -to  grin  with  a  cheerful  un- 
cannmess  on  the  rigamaroles  of  magic.  She  said: 
Come ! " 

Mrs  Byrne  entered  the  gipsy  tent,  and  Mrs.  Cregan 
was  left  alone  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  bespangled  past 
reduced  to  its  lowest  terms  of  imposture.  There  were 
Btnngs  of  Indian  com  hanging  from  the  ceiling,  Chinese 
coins  and  rabbits'  feet  on  the  walls,  a  horseshoe  wrapped 
in  tmfoil  over  the  door,  and  a  collection  of  grotesque 
bno-a-brac  on  shelves  and  tables.  There  were  neck- 
laces of  lucky  beads  for  sale,  and  love  charms  in  the 
shape  of  small  glass  hearts  enclosing  imitation  sham- 
rocks, and  dream  books,  and  manuals  of  palmistry,  and 
gipsy  cards  for  fortune-telling,  and  photographs  of 
Madame  Wampa  in  a  goigeoua  evening  dress  trimmed 
with  feathers.  Over  all  was  a  smoky  odor  of  kerosene 
from  an  oil  heater. 

Mrs.  Cregan  looked  from  side  to  side  with  a  vaguely 
worried  feeling  that  it  must  take  a  power  of  dusting  and 
wiping  to  keep  such  a  clutter  of  things  clean;  and  this 
feeling  gradually  rose  into  her  consciousness  above  the 
dull  stupefaction  of  her  grief. 

Madame  Wampa,  in  the  chintz  tent,  recited  without 
expression:  "Though  you  travel  east  or  west,  may 
your  luck  be  the  best."     She  dropped  her  voice  to  a  ton^ 


143 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


le»8  mutter  about  a  "journey,"  and  some  papen  that 
were  to  be  signed,  and  a  "false"  dark  woman  who 
pretended  to  be  Mn.  Byrne's  friend,  but  would  do  her 
an  injury. 

Mrs.  Cregan  gat  as  if  she  were  waiting  for  her  tnm 
to  enter  a  confessional,  her  hands  folded,  her  head 
dropped.  She  heard  Mrs.  Byrne  whispering  hoarsely, 
but  she  did  not  listen. 

Madame  Wampa  said,  at  last,  wearily :  "  Very  well. 
Send  her  in." 

She  shuffled  her  cards  and  sighed.  She  was  pro- 
fessionally acquainted  with  many  griefs,  and  she  took 
her  toll  of  them.  They  meant  no  more  to  her  than 
sickness  does  to  a  quack.  She  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Cre- 
gan's  entrance  almost  absent-mindedly. 

But  there  was,  at  once,  something  go  helplessly 
stricken  about  the  woman's  plump  despair,  go  infantile, 
so  touchingly  ridiculous,  that  Madame  Wampa  even 
smiled  faintly  and  moved  the  bamboo  table  to  let  Mrs 
Cregan  squeeze  into  the  chair  that  waited  her.  She 
sat  down  and  held  out  her  money  in  her  palm.  Madame 
Wampa  took  her  hand.  « I  will  tell  you,"  she  aaid. 
1  will  see  it  in  your  hand." 

She  crossed  the  palm  three  times  with  the  coin,  and 
began  m  the  monotonous  voice  and  with  the  expres- 
sionless face  of  the  fakir :  «  You  -  you  're  married. 
Many  years.  I  see  many  years.  You've  not  been 
happy.  Monday's  your  unlucky  day.  Don't  begin 
nothin'  on  Monday.  You  're  thinkin'  of  takin'  a  journey 
—  something  — some    change.    It    won't    end    good 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS  148 

You 'd  better  not  Whatever  it  i«.  There '»  a  man — 
a  man  that  hag  horsea  — that  drives  horses.  I  see 
horses.  He'll  have  an  accident  I  think  a  runaway 
—  8  collision.  He'll  be  — hurt  Yes.  He's  old  — 
an  old  man.  Mebbe  he '11  die.  P'r'aps.  He 's  a  rela- 
tive —  related  to  you.  Beware  of  animals.  One '11  hurt 
you.  You'll  never  be  rich  — but  comfortable.  The 
best  of  your  life  'a  coiaui'.    You  '11  have  your  wisL" 

Mrs.  Cregan  had  drawn  back  in  her  chair.  Her 
mouth  had  loosened.  Her  hand  lay  limp  on  the  tablei 
All  her  intelligence  seemed  to  have  concentrated  in  her 
eyee,  ic  an  expression  of  horrified  surprise.  She  said 
faintly:     "  Is 't  Cregan ? " 

Aladame  Wampa  shrugged  one  shoulder  in  her  red 
kimono.  "The  lines  don't  say."  She  blew  out  the 
lamp  and  rose  from  the  table,  "That's  all.  You 
can't  tell  much  for  a  quarter.  I  give  a  full  trance 
readin',  with  names,  dates  an'  all  questions  an- 
swered — " 

"God  forgi'  me,"  Mrs.  Cregan  quavered,  crossing 
herself.  She  staggered  out  blindly  into  the  room. 
Mrs.  Byrne  cried :  "  What 's  wrong  with  yuh  ? " 
And  at  that,  Mrs.  Cregan  stampeded  to  the  door  in 
the  ponderous  panic  of  a  conscience^tricken  elephant  — 
running  to  find  a  place  where  she  might  get  down  on 
her  knees.  Cregan!  It  was  himself  1  ItwasDinny! 
Killed,  maybe!  Maybe,  at  this  blessed  minute,  he 
was  lying  in  a  hospital,  and  the  surgeons  cuttmg  him 
up  with  their  little  knives.  God  forgive  us !  She  had 
blasphemed  against  the  church  and  Father  Dumphy; 


144 


THE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


•nd  ihe  miMt  pray.    Por  hemlf  and  for  Cre.M. 
Dinnyl    She  had  wished  him  dead  1    ""  "'  ^"«'"- 
Mrfc  Bjrme  tugged  at  her  cape.    "Whi.tl    Whiatl 
What '.come  over  yuh,  woman?    What  i.  it  f" 
-It  'g  Dmny  t  " 

That  waa  all  that  could  be  had  out  of  her.  Even 
when  , he  reached  her  home  again,  .nd  M«.  BjZ 
followed  her  in,  afraid  of  leaving  the  frightened  womTn 
a  one  e«t  she  "  blab  "the  wholeTcret  toihe  first  ^^^ 

she  had  gathered  up  the  broken  diahea  and  propped  the 
b«>ke^  chair  against  the  wall,  as  franticall'Ts^f  Jl 
were  try.^g  to  conceal  the  evidence  of  a  crL  Then 
«he  sank  down  on  a  sofa  ani  burst  into  tears.  «  S 
poorcreature!"  she  wept.     "  The  poor  ol' ml^I  " 

Mrs.  Byrne  folded  her  arms.     «  Manr  Cregan  "  she 
said,  ,n  hoarse  disgust,  "  when  yuh 've  donT^IJwn   ! 

yah.  Jfo  one  II  believe  yuh.  No  one!  An'  if  yuh 
don  want  somethin'  turrible  to  happen,  yuh '11  C 
no*.n',  but  yuh  '11  behave  yerself  likeTde^rm  rriS 

tr  X  %£  l'''^'''\^-'  -y  ^-  prayers  a^fnl 
troubla  That  woman  with  the  cards  says  whatever  th' 
old  Nick  puts  into  her  head  to  say." 

M«  P '"^'"i  '"'.^  =    "  ®^«  ^'''^  "  in  me  hand !  " 
verTl;?^™.'  I"*""  '"'■''"  "P  ^^'  "  prophetess.     «  Dip 
■Now,  then.     Behave  yerself." 


TUE  DEVIL'S  DOINGS 


146 

"I  WM  wishin'  it  I"  ,he  wailed.     "  T  „..      •  i.-  , 
aometliin'  'd  hapnen  to  h!«  .    i  ,       "  '^"'"° 

own  home  I  ''^  "  ^  ''*^'»  "•*>  '«*  ^»>  in  «' 

did  far  yer'll^rVuh^r '"/''''"  *'""  ^•"' 
Cr«gan,  but' yuh 'v7w.    ^  '^*'  ""'"'«•"•  ^"■ 

Jier  wo  J„"'  ""  '"  '"""  "''-'  -'  ^l' '»  be  a  hap- 

«pa«'d?J^/-     ^-■"■"^-Croganwept,"ifhe', 

"  ^*'^'  '««'."  Mrs.  Byrne  said  drily      "  H«  'ii  k« 
spared  to  yuh."  ^'       ^*  "  ^e 

And  he  has  been  spared  to  her     At  fir.t  i.. 

he  was  proud  of  his  conquest  ^  '  """^ 

de^'s  doin's,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Byle  ^  ""  ^''^ 

Ue  had  a  hand  in  it,  no  doubt "  Mrs  T?^„ 
-.th  her.     «  An'  how  's'cr^an  ?  Wrff?'  T1 

r^?^:. offl*  1^ Ti'-'^  Go;di;erto Ve^  .^ ''' 
luJi  re  off  early  to  choorch,  ag-jn."  "»•••. 


\- 


THE  HIEED  MAN 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


rpHE  tmy  room,  in  which  they  sat,  looked  as  much 

J.     as  anything  like  an  undertaker's  parlor.     It  was 

paneled  m  coffin  woods,  upholstered  in  black  leather, 

with  mirrors  imimnerable  and  shining  nickle  fittings 

head,  the  three  men  were  as  silent  as  mourners,  staring 

solemnly,  with  that  expression  of  decent  dejection  which 

he  Anglo-Saxon  wears  when  he  has  to  listen  to  music 

in  silence,  or  smoke  among  strangers  who  do  not  force 

^TeZTf'  ■  ""^^^  **""  "^""^^'^  *  """'^y  blackness 
streamed  by,  m  a  torrent  and  a  turmoil  that  rocked 
and  roared  unceasingly. 

They  were  in  the  smoking-<;ompartment  of  a  Pull- 
man car.  There  entered  a  middle-aged  man  in  a  peaked 
outmg^ap  that  looked  absurdly  boyish  above  hi  big, 
unburnt  face.  The  others  watched  him  blow  into  th^ 
stem  of  a  bnar  pipe,  his  cheeks  puffed  out,  his  eyes 
shifting  from  one  to  the  next  When  the  pipe  whistL 
on  a  high  clear  note,  he  nodded  his  satisfaction  to  the 
Whole  party  and  sat  down  among  them.  «  The  frost 
plays  the  devil  with  the  roadbeds  in  this  countiy  "  he 
md^m  a  burly  voice  that  filled  the  whole  compart- 

14> 


160 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


The  young  man  beside  him  was  the  first  to  dear  his 
throat  and  reply.  He  was  prematurely  bald  and  spec- 
tacled. He  had  the  loose-laced  shoes  and  woolen  socks 
of  a  brain  worker.  And  it  was  plain,  before  the  con- 
versation went  very  far,  that  he  was  learned  in  the  law. 
The  others,  one  by  one,  added  their  voices  to  the  discus- 
sion as  the  newcomer  drew  them  out  with  a  question  or 
a  remark  which  his  eyes  directed.  In  ten  minutes  they 
were  all  in  conversational  attitudes,  talking  or  listen- 
ing; and  the  compartment  looked  like  the  smoking-room 
of  a  club. 

Railroad  legislation,  "trust-busting,"  overcapitaliza- 
tion, the  labor  problem  —  these  were  the  topics  they  dis- 
cussed. The  bald  young  man  defended  the  Constitu- 
tion and  the  Supreme  Court,  and  deplored  the  lack  of 
respect  for  the  law  in  a  republic  where  the  law  was  the 
only  king.  In  a  wicker  chair  confronting  him,  a  heavy- 
shouldered  traveler,  speaking  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
and  frowning  at  the  signet  ring  which  he  turned  and 
turned  on  his  finger,  voiced  the  exasperation  of  the 
business  man,  persecuted  by  lawyers  and  politicians, 
and  unable  to  get  employees  who  were  "worth  their 
salt."  The  third  man  lolled  back  with  an  ankle  on  his 
knee,  his  stogie  uptilted  almost  to  the  brim  of  the  derby 
that  was  slanted  down  over  his  eyes.  He  interjected 
into  the  argument  the  smoking-room  stories  of  a  "  drum- 
mer," each  prefaced  with  a  curt  laugh  and  continued 
nonchalantly  between  puffs. 

The  newcomer  spoke  of  "  Labor  "  with  the  sympathy 
of  one  who  worked  among  laborers,  in  the  open  air, 


THE  HIRED  MAN  isi 

without  gloves.  He  confessed  that  he  was  a  oivi,  en- 
gineer. And  to  make  a  point  in  hi»  diacuaaion  h ,  asked 
permission  to  tell  a  story  — a  long  one  — about  a 
"  hired  man." 

The  drummer  said :    "  Go  ahead." 

The  business  man  glanced  at  his  watch  instinctively. 

The  lawyer  lit  a  cigar,  with  an  air  of  exceeding  his 
prescribed  allowance,  and  nodded  like  a  judge. 

n 

The  engineer  relit  his  pipe.  "  I  had  a  man  named 
Larsen  working  under  me  once,"  he  said.  "  He  was 
foreman  of  one  of  the  shifts  of  laborers  —  and  a  laborer 
himself. 

"  We  were  building  an  intake  tunnel  for  the  water- 
works of  a  town  on  Lake  Erie. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  more  explicit  than  that  For 
one  thing,  there's  a  suit  about  it,  between  the  con- 
tractors and  the  city,  still  on  in  the  courts."  He  nodded 
to  the  lawyer  over  his  pipe. 

"  I  had  to  sink  a  shaft  just  inside  the  island  that 
protected  the  harbor  from  the  lake.  Then,  from  the 
foot  of  that  shaft,  I  was  to  tunnel  in  one  direction  out 
under  i!ti^  island  to  the  lake,  and  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion back  under  the  harbor  to  the  city,  so  as  to  connect 
the  lake  with  the  pumping^tation  on  the  mainland. 
They  had  been  using,  before  this,  a  big  steel  intake 
pipe  laid  along  the  bottom  of  the  harbor,  but  it  kept 
leaking  at  the  joints,  taking  in  sewage  from  the  bay, 
and  keeping  the  people  boiling  their  drinking-water. 


152 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


"  Never  mind  that. 

"The  point  is:  we'd  been  having  as  much  trouble 
putting  down  that  shaft  as  if  it  had  been  another 
Simplon  tunnel.  There 'd  been  an  error  in  the  City 
Engineei's  specifications.  His  blue-prints,  furnished 
us  when  we  were  bidding  on  the  contract,  showed  a  bot- 
tom of  clay  and  gravel.  We  found  quicksand  when  we 
got  to  work.  And  that  makes  all  the  difference  to  an 
engineer  that  it  does  to  a  builder. 

"You  know  what  a  cofferdam  is?  — a  fouMided 
dam.  You  sink  your  shaft  inside  it,  after  you've 
pumped  out  the  water  enclosed  by  the  dam. 

"  Well,  an  ordinary  cofferdam,  made  of  wooden  piles 
and  timber  sheeting,  packed  with  clay,  won't  hold  out 
water  over  a  quicksand,  because  it  comes  in,  through 
the  sand,  under  the  piling,  as  fast  as  you  pump  it  out. 
We'd  built  an  ordinary  cofferdam.  And  when  that 
did  n't  hold,  we  strengthened  it  with  another  outside  of 
It  Then  we  put  on  extra  pumps  and  kept  them  going 
until  the  quicksand  shifted  under  the  piling  and 
wrecked  our  three  months'  work.  After  that,  we  de- 
cided to  use  a  caisson. 

"  A  caisson  "—  he  illustrated  it  with  his  hands  — "  is 
properly  a  steel  tube  that 's  sunk  in  sections  to  make  a 
metal  well  for  the  men  to  dig  in.  It 's  usually  fitted 
with  an  air-lock  and  supplied  with  compressed  air. 
As  if  the  caisson  were  a  diving-bell  sunken  in  the  earth 
—  don't  you  know  ?  The  air  in  it  keeps  out  the  water, 
and  the  metal  holds  up  the  sand. 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


153 
The  com- 


I  could  n't  use  compresged  air  on  the  job 
pany  would  n't  stand  for  the  expense. 

I  want  to  hurry  over  these  professional  details 
.ou  u^d^rstand.  but  I  can't  very  weS  tell  the  sto^^S 

sections  tn^I,^  f  "?"'""'  "'"'  ^^''^  "^^^  of  the 

bin  toK  !"■•  "f  ^'"'"^  '^'  '"^«  '"  Po^tio''  and 
wit  dmi-l'^f '  "''  '""'•  ^y  '*«  own  weight.  It 
went  down  thirty  feet,  and  there  the  suction  held  it 
We  loaded  U  with  a  deck  of  heavy  tn.bers  and"  hunt S 
tons  of  ironj  and  it  sank  four  f«,t  further  before't 
topped  again.  Then  we  pumped  the  water  out  oTi 
and  began  to  dig  out  the  sand  to  see  if  we  could  lowS 
^e  caisson  by  relieving  the  suction  on  the  inside.    TOen 

o^th^  illr  ?7  *"^°*^  '^''  ^^  q-ksand  ro^ 

UP  thri,i^^     T    "^  '"'''''  '^^  *^«y  ^^  *o  scramble 
up  thf,  ladders  to  save  their  lives     Anv  „,,»  .    i7 
that  if  WB  Iront  ««  ♦  1  •  ;  y  °°®  ^'o'^ld  see 

I  at  It  we  kept  on  taking  out  the  sand  as  it  rose  we  'd 

ause  another  shifting  under  the  foundations  ^f  he 
cofferdam  and  wreck  the  whole  work  again  Elides 
W  r^orted  that  his  men  were  afrfd  t;  ^^2 
to  dig,  ^use  two  of  them  had  been  caughTirthT 
quicksand  and  nearly  lost  8«  wo  a  . ,  ^  ^7  '°  *^e 
try  dynamite  in  the  ^oe'f  the  caTll     -Sj'''*  ^ '' 

"  You  see,  by  that  time,  we  'd  been  working  for  five 


164 


THE  HIBED  MAN 


!  4  ■ 


months.  We'd  been  two  month*  building  our  fiwt 
cofFerdam,  and  another  month  strengthening  it  with 
our  second.  It  had  taken  us  three  weeks  to  get  the 
caisson  placed,  and  we'd  been  five  weeks  sinking  it. 
We  'd  driven  our  first  piles  through  floe  ice  —  dancing 
on  the  decks  of  our  tugs  to  keep  our  feet  warm  —  and 
now  it  was  August.  We  'd  worked  in  sleet,  in  driv- 
ing rain,  in  the  drizzle  of  spring  and  the  heat  of  mid- 
summer. We  'd  fought  the  northeast  storms  that  ba^ 
tered  the  walls  of  our  dam  and  the  quicksand  that 
shifted  and  undermined  them.  One  of  my  men  had 
fallen  into  the  shaft  and  broken  his  neck  Another  had 
had  his  foot  crushed  under  a  steel  plat*  One  of  the 
boilers  in  the  powerhouse  had  blown  out.  M7  pumps 
had  clogged  with  sand.  My  steam-pipes  had  burst.  My 
firemen  had  come  to  work  drunk.  Our  materials  had 
been  delayed.  Even  my  little  bedroom,  in  the  shack 
that  served  as  an  ofiSce,  on  an  angle  of  the  cofferdam, 
had  taken  fir^  and  my  oilskins  and  such  had  been 
burned. 

"  And  Larsen  had  been  sharing  all  these  anxietiee 

disappointments  —  delays  —  with  a  sympathy  that  you 
could  n't  help  smiling  at.  Whenever  he  sat  with  me, 
of  an  evening,  in  my  bedroom  over  the  office,  he  'd  take 
his  chair  to  the  window  and  keep  one  eye  on  the  work 
outside.  He  arrived  in  the  morning  in  the  bows  of  the 
company's  tug,  and  he  left,  at  night,  on  the  stem.  He 
seemed  to  be  living  with  his  back  to  the  outer  world 
and  his  face  to  the  shaft 

"  I  said  to  the  company's  superintendent,  one  day: 


THE  HIBED  MAN  155 

'larwn  watoheg  that  Bhaft  a.  if  he  thought  Bome  one 
was  trying  to  steal  it.' 

.u  "7''*  *"P*""'«'«lent  had  risen  from  the  ranks  of 
the  sandhogs  •  himself,  and  he  had  the  sort  of  practical 
nund  that  w  n't  interested  in  character  study.  He  said , 
■Inat  s  what  Larson's  paid  for!' 
"I  wondered  whether  that  was  the  whole  explana- 
tion of  Larsen.  It  wasn't  easy  to  decide  anything 
about  him.  He'd  been  a  sailor,  and  he  had  all  t^ 
patience,  and  resourcefulness,  and  sort  of  silent  endur- 
ance-don't  you  know? -that  the  sea  gets  into  a 
man.     He  was  habitually  silent. 

"Well  we  were  still  sinking  the  caisson  with  dyna- 
mite-dropping it  a  foot  or  so  at  a  time -when  old 
Nolan,  the  head  of  the  company,  came  to  see  for  him- 
self  what  was  delaying  us.  He  looked  over  the  situa- 
tion, and  cursed  the  City  Engineer  for  reporting  clay 
and  gravel  where  there  was  quicksand,  and  ours^  our 
own  men  for  not  discovering  the  truth  when  they  made 
their  bonngs.  He  cursed  the  slowness  and  difficulty 
of  the  operations,  and  the  consequent  loss  of  profits  on 
the  contract  And  he  ended  by  ordering  us  to  use  more 
dynamite  m  a  charge. 

"  I  objected,  of  course,  that  the  dynamite  might  split 
tne  caisson.  ^ 

J^f"^  """  "  """^  '^"'^  ""^  ^tl'  ^^  ™<Jer  jaw 
tiiat  closed  on  a  cigar  in  a  bulldog  grip.  '  Dynamite,' 
he  said  ',s  one  of  those  things  that  either  make 
you  or  br»ak  you.     Go  ahead.    Put  down  a  box  of 


166 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


"  The  box  went  down.  And  the  explosion  wrecked 
the  two  lower  sections  of  the  caisson. 

"  '  My  fault,  boys,'  he  said,  as  cheerful  as  a  gambler. 
'  Do  it  your  own  way.'  And  with  that  apology,  he  left 
us  to  repair  his  blunder  the  best  way  we  could. 

"  Now,  I  understood  this  attitude  of  mind.  It 's  thr> 
typical  contractor's  —  the  attitude  of  a  man  who  sees 
in  an  engineering  operation  only  the  question  of  profit 
or  loss,  and  who 's  willing  to  stake  everything  with  a 
chance  of  losing  it.  But  I  'd  seen  Nolan  succeed  by 
means  that  most  of  your  academic  engineers  would  be 
afraid  to  use,  and  I  was  n't  contemptuous  of  his  failure 
with  the  dynamite.     I  looked  around  for  Larsen. 

"  That  was  where  I  got  my  first  light  on  Larsen.  I 
found  him  scowling  after  the  tug  that  was  carrying 
Nolan  back  to  the  city.  His  big  fista  swung  down  at  his 
thighs,  like  knotted  clubs.  'What  does  he  want  to 
come  here  for  —  buttin'  into  this  ? '  he  said.  '  We  near 
had  her!  We  near  had  her  I  He  thinks  because  he 
owns  this  business — ' 
"  And  so  forth. 

"  I  could  see  that  it  was  n't  any  personal  feeling  of 
loyalty  to  Nolan  that  had  kept  him  faithful.  I  still  had 
to  find  out  whether  it  was  his  wages  —  or  the  prospect 
of  better  wages. 

"  Are  you  interested  ?    Does  this  bore  you  ? " 
They  answered,  with  various  degrees  of  politeness: 
"  Not  at  all.     Go  on.    Go  ahead«  anyway." 


THE  HIBED  MAN 


157 


m 

He  refilled  hi.  pipe.     "  We  went  to  work  again.     We 
got  a  lot  of  .teel  piling  that  would  hold  outlui^L^nd 
•nd  we  aank  a  fence  of  interlocking  .teel  p^Lin  a 
juare,  indde  the  wooden  cofferdam'and  bolS't^^it 

dam  of  the  Ban.e  .ort  of  .teel  pile.,  fitting  them,  knuckL 
to  hub,  m  a  circle  around  the  broken  e^lson.     And  by 

to  rook  bottom.     Under.tand?    But  the  top  of  that 
circular  dam  was  nineteen  feet  below  the  tSp  of  the 

TdT     T  r^;  '''  «^  ^"'^  ^  ^  - 'ed  niS 
«>^d  day.     I  took  the  night  shift,  with  Larsen  under 

''We  had  to  dig  out  the  broken  caisson. 
It  wag  a.  ticklish  a  job  as  you  '11  meet  with  in  the 
oHuiary  nm  of  work.     It  was  one  of  those  bit.  tJat 
^ake  an  «,gineer's  life  so_.o  interesting  to  hZ.     I 
would  n't  interest  you  any  more  than  a  doctor's  alun 
of  a  surgical  oper  ,  ion.  ""»uni; 

"However,  we  got  it  done -or  almost  And  one 
morning  after  the  day  shift  had  taken  over  the  work  I 
congratulated  larsen  on  it.  I  said  that  Nolan  olghtto 
give  him  a  raise  of  wages.  Of  course,  I  was  tS  L 
find  out  how  he  felt  about  the  wages.  "7ing  to 

"He  was  sitting  at  my  bedroom  window,  waitine  for 
the  tug  to  start  back  to  the  city.    He  slept'arhomf  T 


1S» 


THE  HIKED  MAN 


Ik. 


i 


bad  my  boote  off,  Mtting  on  the  side  of  my  bed,  «in«H«g 
I  said: 

"  *  Nolan  ought  to  give  yon  a  raiie  of  wage*  on  the 
strength  of  this.' 

"  Larsen  replied:  '  No.  He  won't  raise  no  wage* 
onto  me.' 

"  I  asked  him  whether  he  did  n't  think  he  was  worth 
more  than  he  got  He  opened  his  hands  and  locked  at 
the  pahns  of  them.  '  It 's  the  brains  that  gets  paid,' 
he  said.  '  I  got  a  boy.  He  goes  to  school  ...  No. 
Not  ma' 

"  I  can't  give  you  the  tone,  or  the  words  exactly. 
But  they  expressed  the  sort  of  tragedy  of  his  own  labor 
—  don't  you  know  ?  —  and  the  hope  that  made  him  am- 
bitious for  the  boy.  He  said  he  was  making  an  en- 
gineer of  him. 

"  That  was  lesson  number  two  for  me.  I  got  my 
next  one  next  night." 

The  business  man  interrupted :  "  You  would  n't  call 
him  typical,  would  you  I " 

The  engineer  answered :  "  I  don't  know.  Wait  till 
I  tell  you  the  rest 

"  I  slept  till  ten  o'clock  that  next  morning,  and  then 
I  dressed  to  go  into  the  city  —  to  arrange  for  a  supply 
of  stone  and  cement  that  would  soon  be  needed  — and 
this  business  kept  me  on  my  feet  aU  day.  At  nightfall 
I  boarded  the  company's  tug  again,  intending  to  have 
a  look  at  the  shaft  and  then  turn  the  work  over  to  Larsen 
and  have  a  sleep.  When  I  arrived  I  found  Larsen 
struggling  with  a  clogged  pump  at  the  foot  of  the  shaft 


THE  HIBED  MAN 


150 


"The  w«ter  wu  rising.  It  roM  so  tut  that  the 
pump  wu  drowned  before  it  could  be  started  again. 
Wf  turned  the  steam  on  the  big  duplex,  up  above; 
hilt  th  1,  niex,  waiting  idle,  had  n't  been  kept  in  readi- 
ir^D.  S.  „.,  one  had  neglected  it.  It  did  n't  answer 
t'lo  throitlc  I  threw  off  my  coat  and  jumped  down 
or,  the  nlHtf,.,in  where  it  had  been  planted,  at  the  foot 
c/  U.0  «  ,u(.re  dam,  fifteen  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
ui.tp-  -.vater  — and  found  the  suction  buried  in  the 
9i.iid.  r  called  to  Larsen  to  lift  it  out  with  a  derrick. 
-  lui  La:<;,)n,  running  about  in  the  half  light,  like  a 
gorilla  with  his  long  arms,  slung  the  tackle  and  worked 
the  winch  and  cleared  the  suction. 

"  The  mf.n  at  the  shaft  reported  that  the  watrr  was 
rising  in  a  steady  flow. 

"W.I  threw  the  steam  into  the  duplex  aj,  :n.  Tt 
did  n't  lift  I  saw  there  was  something  wrong  in  the 
cylinder.  When  Larsen  and  I  got  the  cylinder  head  off, 
we  found  the  ring  of  the  piston  broken.  It  was  the 
work  of  hours  to  mend  it,  and  the  water  was  rising  at 
the  rate  of  an  inch  and  a  half  a  minute. 

"  Well  —  not  to  bore  you  with  exciting  details  —  be- 
fore we  had  repaired  that  piston,  the  water  was  up  to 
our  waists.  While  we  were  replacing  the  cylinder  head 
nd  setting  the  valves,  it  came  up  to  our  armpits.  We 
worked  at  the  nuts  and  bolts  until  the  water  reached 
our  chins.  We  couldn't  finisL  I  had  to  trust  what 
few  nuts  I  could  get  on  to  hold  the  head.  And  I  had  to 
drag  Larsen  out  by  the  collar. 
"  When  we  pulled   the  throttle  on  the  pump,   it 


160 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


could  n't  make  the  stroke.  It  was  choked  with  con- 
densed steam.  And  Larsen  groaned  as  if  he  were  watch- 
ing a  deathbed. 

"  However,  it  got  to  work  after  a  little  and  began  to 
lift.  I  felt  mighty  grateful  to  Larsen.  I  took  it  that  if 
he  had  n't  been  working,  this  way,  out  of  any  loyalty  to 
Man  — or  with  any  hope  of  getting  a  raise  of  wages 
—  It  must  be  that  he  had  some  sort  of  affectionate  in- 
terest in  me  and  my  success  witi  the  job.  And  when 
we  were  drying  out  our  clothes  together,  in  front  of 
one  of  the  furnaces,  I  tried  to  express  my  gratitude,  you 
know.  "^ 

"He  took  it  in  silenoa  He  kept  going  out,  every 
now  and  then,  to  look  at  the  water  in  the  shaft,  in  a 
801 :  of  angry  bewilderment  that  ignored  me  altogether 
I  tried  to  jolly  him  out  of  his  bad  mood,  by  telling  him 
about  an  engineer  who  got  his  back  up  at  things,  that 
way -and  lost  a  leg  before  he  regained  his  temper. 
Larsen  did  n't  wait  to  hear  about  it.  He  simply  walked 
back  to  his  pumps  without  paying  any  attention  to  me 
whatever.  And  I  was  wise  enough  to  see  that  he  had 
no  more  personal  loyalty  for  me  than  he  had  for 
Nolan. 

"  That  was  lesson  number  three. 
"  I  'm  nearly  done  now.  Just  a  minuta 
"  When  the  day  shift  arrived,  I  was  '  cross-eyed '  with 
lack  of  sleep,  but  the  square  dam  was  empty  and  the 
pumps  were  beginning  to  draw  water  from  the  shaft 
Itself.  I  took  a  final  look  around,  and  warned  the 
superintendent  to  watch  the  wooden  cofferdam,  because 


THE  HIRED  MAN  m 

•  strong  wind  had  been  blowing  from  the  northeast,  and 
the  wa.vw  were  working  at  the  outer  sheeting.  I  told 
Larsen  that  he  had  better  come  along  and  get  a  snooze, 
but  he  looked  up,  like  a  sailor,  at  the  storm  in  the  sky. 
and  shook  his  head.    And  I  left  him. 

"As  I  was  going  into  the  office,  I  saw  a  company  tug 
oommg  up,  with  Nolan  in  the  bows.  1  was  too  tired  to 
meet  him.  I  told  one  of  the  men  to  call  me  if  anything 
went  wrong  -  and  climbed  up  to  my  bunkroom.     I  fell 


He  looked  for  a  long  time  at  his  pipe.    It  was  black 
out     He  had  been  holding  it,  forgotten,  at  his  lips. 

I  heard,  afterward,  how  it  happened.     The  waves 
caufod  a  shifting  of  the  sand  on  the  eastern  front  of  the 
dam,  and  loosened  the  piles,  and  spread  the  sheeting - 
wid  the  water  began  to  pour  in  on  the  square  steel  dam 
The  men  were  ordered  up  from  the  shaft,  and  they  ran 
with  timbers  and  shovels  to  throw  clay  into  the  hole 
and  brace  the  planking;  and  Larsen  and  the  shift  worked 
like  mad.    It  was  no  use.     The  waves  sucked  out  the 
clay  faster  than  it  could  be  shoveled  in,  and  the  dam 
]ust  sank  under  their  feet.     When  the  inner  sheeting 
began  to  give  way,  Larsen  shouted  for  timbers  to  rein- 
force it.    And  when  the  men  ran  for  beams  and  planks 
he  was  just  crazy  enough  to  brace  himself  between  the 
wooden  sheeting  and  the  steel  dam  — his  feet  against 
the  one,  his  shoulders  against  the  other  —  to  try  to  hold 
the  planking  until  the  men  could  come  to  his  aid 

"  I  saw  him  there.     The  row  had  wakened  me,  urd 
I  ran  to  the  window.    A  big  wave  struck  into  the  breach 


m 


in 


THE  HIRED  MAN 


behind  him  and  spurted  over  him,  and  I  yelled  to  him 
to  get  out  of  that  It  was  too  late.  The  wooden  dam 
seemed  to  <^)en  and  sink  as  if  there  was  an  earthquake. 
And  then,  that  side  of  the  steel  dam  —  loosened  with 
the  piles  it  was  bolted  to  —  fell  inward  like  a  big  fence. 

"  Larsen  went  under." 

He  made  a  gesture  of  apology  for  the  emotion  that 
had  olonded  his  voice,  "  I  swung  over  the  window-sill 
and  struck  the  water  at  the  same  time  as  one  of  the 
men.  We  caught  Larsen  as  he  came  up,  and  we  dragged 
him  out  I  saw  he  could  n't  stand.  His  legs  were  all 
sort  of  twisted.  He  looked  down  at  them  as  if  he  was 
surprised  to  see  them  there.  .  .  .  I  b«g  your  pardon 
.  .  .  You  see,  his  back  was  broken.  He  'd  held  him- 
self braced  between  the  timbers  and  the  steel  until  his 
spine  cracked." 

He  blew  his  nose  hastily.  The  others  did  Mt  look 
at  him, 

"  He  did  n't  pay  any  attentkw  to  old  Nolan'a  smw- 
ance  that  he  and  his  family  would  be  '  look«d  after.' 
He  did  n't  pay  any  attention  to  me.  AH  he  said  w»  — 
when  they  were  carrying  him  aboard  Ae  «»g:  '  e^'» 
all  gone,  this  tint* '  -  speaking  of  tke  dam." 

He  was  silent 

The  business  man  challenged  him :    "  W«ll  i  " 

"  WeU !  "  he  cried,  suddenly,  "  we  're  all  hii»4  mea, 
are  n't  we  ?  Do  /  work  the  way  I  do,  for  Boney  ^ne, 
or  out  of  any  loyalty  to  anybody  ?  Doea  a  ««ier,  or 
a  clergyman,  or  a  doctor,  or  an  artist?  Does  even  a 
man  like  Larsen  ?     Is  the  world  really  run  by  wages  — 


THE  HIEED  MAN 


168 


by  hire  —  or  by  any  feudal-system  sort  of  loyalty  !  Is 
it?  Or  is  it  the  joy  of  the  work,  of  the  game,  that 
makes  us  break  our  backs  in  it  ?  You  asked  me  whether 
I  thought  Larsen  typical  I  tell  you  '  Yes !  Yes  1  A 
thousand  times  yes  1 '  We  could  get  employees  *  worth 
their  salt '  if  we  had  work  to  give  them  that  was  worth 
its  salt.  We  appropriate  all  the  joy  of  the  work,  all  the 
interest  of  the  achievement,  and  we  leave  them  nothing 
but  the  tasteless  labor." 

The  lawyer  interrupted :  "  Are  you  arguing  for  so- 
cialism ? " 

The  engineer  turned  to  him,  surprised.  "Social- 
ism ?  I  don't  know.  I  never  hive  time  to  re«d  up 
ahoTit  those  thingi.  I  'm  teuing  you  what  I  've  seen; 
«h^  'b  alL" 


'!l 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


THE  HONEYMOON  FIAT 


THE  ferry-house  clock,  at  the  foot  of  Christopher 
Street,  marked  fifteen  minutes  past  five;  and  all 
the  trucks  of  the  wholesale  district  were  hurrying  in, 
over  the  paving-stones  of  the  side  streets,  to  the  wide 
esplanade  of  asphalt  that  lies  along  this  stretch  of  the 
New  York  water-front 

They  kept  coming,  like  the  rout  of  a  oommissariat, 
with  noise  and  confusion,  clattering  over  the  uneven 
pavements  and  bumping  across  the  car  tracks.  Already 
hundreds  of  them,  their  empty  shafts  thrown  up  before 
them  like  stiff  arms,  supplicated  the  sunset  in  long 
rows;  and  down  the  passageways  between  them,  the 
drivers,  on  the  backs  of  their  horses,  raced  to  the  board- 
ing stables  like  farm-boys  free  for  the  night 

Carney  was  late.  He  had  hoped  to  have  his  team 
in  their  stalls  by  five  o'clock,  but  his  last  delivery  of 
packing-cases  had  not  been  taken  off  his  hands  until  ten 
minutes  past  five.  Now  he  came  down  Christopher 
Street  like  a  Roman  chariot-racer,  standing  behind  the 
high  seat  of  his  double  truck,  shaken  to  the  ears  with 
the  jarring  of  the  axles,  his  huge  Clydesdales  pounding 
*long  as  if  to  break  their  hoofs. 
167 


168 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


He  turned  in  on  the  wphalt  at  fnU  speed,  and  wheeled 
with  the  recklessness  of  a  battery  going  into  action; 
and  before  the  team  could  catch  breath,  he  had  un- 
hitched the  tugs,  and  freed  the  pole,  and  vaulted  to 

Sharkey's"  back,  and  set  o£F  at  a  gallop  to  the  sta- 
bles. 

He  hoped  to  be  married  that  night.  At  least,  there 
was  a  possibility  that  he  might  be.  And  his  bride-elect 
would  leave  Sturm  &  Bergman's  display  room  st  six. 
She  might  wait  for  him,  and  she  might  not 

It  was  already  half-past  five  when  he  hurried  into 
a  watei-front  saloon  to  get  a  bundle  of  clothes  that  he 
had  left  with  the  barkeeper  that  morning;  and  he  strug- 
gled m  the  little  washroom  there  —  fighting  with 
starched  linen  and  twisted  suspenders  —  to  get  himself 
into  his  wedding  garments.  It  was  a  hot  August  eve- 
mng.  His  fingers  were  slippery  with  perspiration. 
His  neck  was  swelled  with  blood.  He  strangled  in  his 
efforts  to  fasten  his  celluloid  collar.  And  every  time 
that  he  paused  to  take  breath,  ho  wiped  his  forehead  on 
his  shirt-sleeve  and  sighod  hard. 

He  ran  for  a  street-car  with  his  coat  over  his  arm 
pawing  at  the  back  of  his  necktie  in  an  attempt  to  catch 
It  under  his  collar-button.  The  conductor  pulled  him 
to  the  platform  as  the  car  started  with  a  jerk.  "  Wha'  's 
the  time  ? "  )io  gasped. 

The  conductor  thrust  him  aside.     "  Quart'  t'  six." 
He  clung  to  the  brass  hand-rail  weakly.    He  had 
had  no  food  since  breakfast,  except  a  glass  of  beer  and 
some  free-lunch  biscuits.    His  legs  wer»  aching  from 


I   1^ 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  169 

the  vibration  of  the  truck.  He  swayed  with  the  motion 
of  the  car;  and  every  now  and  then,  be  blinked  like  a 
mm  in  a  drop-elevator  when  the  cage  floor  leaves  his 
feet. 

Not  so  the  lady.  She  was  a  cloak  model,  "  36  figure," 
in  Sturm  &  Bergman's;  and  she  had  been  parading  all 
day,  in  various  winter  furs  and  jackets,  before  the 
critical  eyes  of  wholesale  buyers  from  out  of  town. 
She  had  walked  up  and  down  interminably,  as  graceful 
as  a  drawing-room  belle,  but  as  indifferent  as  a  dummy. 
One  of  the  younger  buyers,  admiring  the  stately  crea- 
ture in  her  "  princess  "  gown  of  black  brilliantine  that 
fitted  her  like  a  mold,  asked  her,  with  an  air  of  gal- 
lantry, whether  she  did  not  ever  tire.  She  lowered  a 
supercilious  stare  on  him,  and  said  "  Uh  ? "  The  sales- 
man interposed  hastily :  "  Now  here  's  one  of  our  new- 
est designs  — " 

At  six  o'clock,  she  turned  from  the  window  where 
she  had  been  idle,  and  went  to  the  dressing-rooms  to 
put  off  her  "  harness  "  and  clothe  herself  for  the  street. 
She  did  not  huny.  The  younger  girls  giggled  and 
chattered  around  her,  arraying  themselves  in  open-work 
finery  and  picture  hate.  She  was  the  last  to  leave. 
Her  face  had  lost  its  work-hour  heaviness  and  flushed 
with  the  faintest  twinkle  of  excitement. 

It  returned  to  affected  indifference  when  she  saw 
Carney  across  the  street.  They  met,  as  if  by  accident, 
at  the  comer.    "  Well  ? "  she  said. 

He  reached  his  hat-brim  awkwardly,  his  coat  pinch- 
ing him  under  the  arms.     "  How  yuh  been  ?  " 


170 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


"Fin*.     How 're  you?" 
"A' right" 

Carney  n.ualljr  relapted  into  •  Mtiafled  ailenoe  u 
•oon  as  they  met;  and  she,  to-night,  instead  of  making 
conversation  for  him,  looked  straight  before  her,  with 
an  air  of  saying:  "Go  on,  now.  I  Ve  helped  you  all 
I  intend  to.     You  '11  have  to  do  this  by  yourself." 

He  looked  puzzled,  as  if  he  did  not  know  how  to  he- 
pn.  They  walked  up  Broadway,  jostled  by  the  crowds 
that  poured  from  the  shops  and  the  office  buildings. 
;WTien  they  came  to  Astor  Place,  she  turned  east  toward 
1  bird  Avenue,  as  if  she  were  going  home.  "  Hoi'  on." 
he  said.  "  Ain't  yuh  — " 
"  Ain't  I  what  ? " 

He  hitched  up  his  neck  in  his  tight  coUar.     "  Ain't 
yuh  —  goin'  to  have  somethin'  t'  eat  f " 
She  asked  merely :     "  Where  '11  we  go  f " 
"  What 's  the  matter  with  Dinkev's  f " 
"All  right"  ' 

And  they  went  along  again,  in  silence. 
It  was  a  week  now  since  she  had  met  Carney,  one 
midday,  as  she  was  going  out  to  her  luncheon  and  he 
was  delivering  a  load  of  goods  to  the  freight  elevator  of 
Stum  &  Bergman's.  She  had  recognized  him  at  once, 
by  the  scar  on  his  upper  lip,  and  remembered  the  day 
she  had  given  him  that  wound,  accidentally.  (She  had 
been  breaking  up  a  box  for  her  mother's  firing,  and  the 
head  had  slipped  o£F  the  hatchet  and  struck  him  in  the 
mouth.)  He  had  been  little  Philly  Carney  then,  going 
to  school;  and  she  had  been  "  Clare"  Walsh,  carrying 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  J7i 

pared,  for  "  M.dan.c  Oilliga„  "  over  on  Ninth  Street. 
Tb.t  wa.  fifteen  yean,  ago.  They  had  been  neigh- 
bor, ,n  Cherry  Hill's  "  Dublin  Row  "  at  the  time.  Bnt 
when  her  widowed  mother  died,  >ho  revolted  against  the 
•Mvery  of  her  apprenticeship  to  the  dreggmaker.  and 
went  on  the  stage  as  a  chorus-girl  for  three  contemptu- 
ous years.  The  vanities  of  the  theater  had  sickened 
her  sturdy  independence;  she  had  returned  to  the  work- 
mg  world  as  a  shop-girl,  and  accepted  a  better  position 
as  a  cloak  model. 

When  Carney  met  her,  she  was  adrift  on  the  life  of 
fr^T^,"'  f  "'"*  °*  ii>ambitiou8  isolation,  working 
-tohdly,  lonely  among  the  younger  girls  with  whom  she 
had  no  sympathy,  and  bniskly  repelling  any  flippant 
advances  from  the  men.  She  had  lost  track  of  all  her 
girlhood  acquaintances.  "  Dublin  Bow  »  had  long  since 
been  torn  down.  When  she  saw  Carney  with  hi7truck, 
It  was  like  meeting  an  old  friend  in  a  world  of  stran- 
gers. 

And  he  had  accepted  her,  as  an  old  friend,  with  the 
■ympathetio  interest  of  old  friendship  in  all  that 
had  happened  to  her  in  the  interval  of  absence.  He  had 
told  her  nothing  about  himself  -  except  that  he  had 
worked  hard  and  saved  his  money,  having  no  one  de- 
pendent on  him.  "  Say,"  she  asked  him,  at  last,  "  why 
did  n  t  you  get  married  ? " 

''  Never  met  the  right  girl,"  he  said. 
I  do  r^"'"  ^^  ^''^^^'  *^™^'^  ^^  ^''  stolidity,  "  how  'd 

He  looked  at  her.     "  Fina     Will  yuh  do  it  ?  " 


•••aoeOfY   IBOIUTION   TKT  CHAtT 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  21 


^  APPLIED  IM/1GE    In 

^5*^  1653  Cost  Main  StrMt 

Sr.S  RochMter,   N*w  York         14609       USA 

•.^^  ("6)  482  -  0300  -  Phon« 

^S  (^'6)  288-5989  -Fax 


V 

.  1^ 


172  THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 

"  Sure,"  she  laughed. 

They  were  parting  at  her  door.     "  A'  right,"  he  said. 
"  See  yuh  to-morrah  night." 
And  here  was  "  to-morrah  night !  " 


When  they  arrived  at  Dinkey's,  she  sat  down,  to 
look  over  the  greasy  bill  of  fare,  her  arms  on  the  little 
table.  It  was  a  basement  restaurant  that  offered  a 
"regular"  dinner  for  fifty  cents.  There  were  ants 
in  the  sugar-bowl  and  gravy  stains  in  the  salt-cellars. 
"  I  could  eat  a  horse,"  she  said. 

He  turned  to  the  unshaven  waiter,  absent-mindedly. 
"  Same  fer  me." 

When  he  stopped  laughing  with  her  at  his  mistake, 
he  was  more  at  ease  with  the  situation.  "Well,  an' 
that 's  no  joke,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  waiter  had  left 
them,  to  bring  soup. 

She  patted  her  back  hair,  smiling  at  him  with  the 
flirtatious  air  that  is  proper  to  a  caf6  dinner.  He  looked 
at  her  as  if  the  sparkle  in  her  face  were  so  brilliant 
that  it  dazzled  him  to  any  defect  of  beauty  in  her.  He 
weighed  his  fork  in  his  big  fingers.  "  Say,"  he  asked, 
"  did  yuh  mean  that,  las'  night  ?  " 
"  Mean  what  ? " 
"  You  know." 

She  tried  to  laugh.     "  Did  you?  " 
"  I  seen  Father  Dumphy  this  afternoon." 
"  You  did!  "    Her  lips  still  held  the  wrinkles  of  her 
smile,  but  her  eyes,  fixed  on  him,  kept  twitching  in  and 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  173 

widening  out  in  an  alternation  of  incredulity  and  hope. 
"  I  thought  yuh  —  I  tol'  'em  we  'd  be  aroun'  to  see 
'm  t  night  —  if  yuh  'd  come." 

Her  gaae  searched  his  face  like  a  light  that  took 
him  full  in  the  eyes  and  confused  him.  The  waiter 
shuffled  up  with  their  soup  and  interrupted  them.  Car- 
ney in  his  embarrassment,  gulped  a  steaming  spoonful 
and  burned  his  throat.  He  felt  her  smile  on  him  and 
met  It  with  a  twisted  mouth. 

"  Did  —  did  yuh  mean  it  2  "  he  insisted. 

She  answered,  addressing  her  plate :  "  I  guess  so  — 
if  you  did." 

When  she  looked  up,  she  saw  him  with  another  seald- 
mg  mouthful  at  his  lips,  and  she  cried :  «  You  '11  bum 
yourself  I " 

He  spilled  it  into  the  plate.  He  wiped  the  splatter 
from  his  coat-front  with  his  table  napkin  and  mopped 
his  forehead.     "  Qeel  "  he  said. 

"  Fish  ? "  the  waiter  asked,  behind  her. 

"Yep,"  she  answered.  "Fish."  And  she  spoke  ir 
the  voice  of  a  woman  who  was  henceforth  to  do  the  or- 
dering for  two. 

She  had  the  feminine  ability  to  take  command  of  a 
sentimental  situation,  and  Carney  evidently  had  the 
masculine  inability  to  do  anything  of  the  sort  She 
continued  in  chaige  of  the  dinner  because  he  ate  as  if 
he  did  not  know  what  he  was  putting  in  his  mouth  If 
she  wondered  what  was  going  on  in  his  mind,  she  did  not 
ask  him.  At  one  moment,  he  devoured  his  food ;  at  the 
next,  he  sat  with  meat  impaled  on  the  tines  of  his  fork 


^1 


174 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


tt^r  f    rT   i"  """*''  ^"^  '*' '"'»  -''««  ^he  "poke 
to  hm.,  he  listened   amili^g  vaguely,  without  any  ap- 

parent  coinprehension.     Several  times,  when  she  wfs 

busy  with  her  food,  she  felt  his  eyes  on  her,  L^LgT 

and  she  did  not  raise  her  own  to  meet  them.     She  hai 

TVhir     'f'.''''^'^''«°tJ'ey  had  finished.     "  I  said 
1  (i  be  there  at  eight  —  about." 

tl2lkT^''''T^  ^"  ^"    *''^''«  t°  ^^^  «P  at  it 
through  her  eyebrows.    "     jere?" 

"  Father  Dumphy's." 

.    "All  right."    She  rose,  with  the  manner  of  accem- 
ing  a  dare,  nonchalantlv.     "  Yo„  Wt»,         .u   ^^ 
firgj).  •'•        ^°"  "^tter  pay  the  waiter 

He  grinned.     "  I  forgot." 

pJ^'l^.^i.'"^  ^"'^"'^  "^"'^  '^'^  i^i'  ««  she  discov- 
Z^ieS"  Shf  ""'  tT  *'^  ^^""^  ^*^P«  '>f  *••«  <"^-^, 
^W™  «        n  u°'''   ''"«""«  "'^'i   exasperated 

You  re  a  peach,"  sb,  said.     "How'd  you  think  we 
could  get  married  without  a  ring  " 

He  shook  his  head,  blissfully  unashamed. 
It  8  bad  luck,"  she  said.    "Besides,  that  ain't  a 
wdd,ng  nng  at  all."    She  stretched  o;*  her  &2 
with  his  huge  seal-ring  on  it  *^ 

"  ?5    m'  ^H"^'  "  <«-«  ««'  get  one." 

"  Ifo.    Neither  do  I.    Put  on  your  hat." 

..♦5^^'*^     They  walked  to  the  comer.    He  hesi- 
tated there,  fumbling  in  his  pockets 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  175 

"WeU?"ghe  asked, 

"  Where  —  where  're  we  goin'  to  ? " 

"Whatl" 

"  WeU,  I  —  I  did  n't  know  whether  yuh  meant  it," 
he  said,  "An'  I  didn't  n^e  no-  My  place 
amt  fit-    It  took  all  the  money  I  had  to  pay  him. 

"  Well,  Phil  Carney,"  she  cried,     "  If  you  »      ■  the 

He  did  not  deny  it.    He  looked  around,  troubled,  at 
the  passers-by, 
"  What  're  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  demanded. 
He  had  money  in  the  savings-bank,  but  that  was  out 
of  reach  Ull  morning.    He  had  a  brother  in  Brooklyn, 
but  he  and  his  brother  were  not  on  very  friendly  terms. 
He  might  borrow  somewhere  —  enough  for  one  night  in 
a  hotel,  anyway  — perhaps  from  Mrs,   Kohn,   from 
whom  he  rented  his  room,  or  from  his  friend  the  bai- 
keeper  with  whom  he  had  left  his  clothes.    But  those 
two  were  at  opposite  ends  of  the  town ;  and  while  he  was 
trymg  to  decide  to  which  he  should  apply,  she  walked 
out  into  the  road  to  meet  an  approaching  street-car. 
Where  yuh  goin'  J  " 
"  I  'm  going  back  to  my  room,"  she  said  disgustedly, 
lou  can  go  where  you  like," 
"  Well,  say,"  he  protested. 

"  Well  say,"  she  mocked  him.     "  The  nest  time  you 
ask  a  girl  to  get  married,  you  'd  better  have  some  place 
to  take  her  to,    I  can't  live  in  the  streets,  can  II " 
That  silenced  him.    He  stood  beside  the  car  step. 


17« 


THE  HONEYMOOK  FLAT 


"  Good  night,"  she  said. 


undecided,  as  she  got  aboard. 
"  I  '11  see  you  to-morrow." 

th«?,  T'S  '^*^'  "^'^^^^  °*  '^  «'^««'  -  watching 
the  car  chmb  the  slope  of  the  avenue-until  a  moving 
van  almost  ran  him  down.  The  shouts  of  the  dr:'^r 
ent  h.m  back  to  the  sidewalk.     The  movement  of  the 

dmiir" '"™' ''"  """'•  ^^ '''''''  -"' 

Sttr!^f\^^  ?°"  '"'*  *''  '^'  f°°*  °f  Christopher 

!f  ^If  ,r    ^T'"^  °"*  "'  *'^«  »''-"-  °f  the  army 
of  trucks   bke  a  deserter  returned  to  his  camp.    His 

eel  uToM   T,        °""  °'"  "^  '^'^ '  '^«  *°™  «« 's  of  hi 
celluloid  collpr  were  protruding  under  his  chin;  he  car^ 

r  ed  h.s  coat  over  one  shoulder.     He  stepped  do^n  heav- 
ily mto  the  gutter  and  stumbled  across^e  «,ad 
w«.  t   "^''*'„^'f '"  ^^  "'"-wered  the  challenge  of  the 
watchman.     "  I 'm  goin' to  sleep  in  the  cart." 

ni 
like  most  New  York  truckmen,  Carney  owned  his 
own  team  and  wagon ;  but  unlike  most  of  them,Te  hired 
out  b,.  the  day,  mstead  of  by  the  week  -  for  he  had  Z 

te  ir  W  T"-'""""*'  "''•^  '^^  -^J'^'l  *°  reserve 

ZT/      "rf'^'^r^'^^^y  i«edin  winter,  or  too  dan- 

So  when  he  woke  next  morning,  he  was  under  no  neces- 
sity of  asking  leave  of  absence  for  the  day 

I«ng  before  the  other  drivers  had  arrived  at  their 
stables,  he  was  hitching  up.    And  by  the  time  the  wate" 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  177 

front  had  wakened  to  the  day's  work,  he  was  driving 
up  and  down  the  cross  streets  of  the  East  Side,  reading 
notices  of  flats  to  let.  The  janitors  were  putting  out 
their  ashK^ans.  He  hailed  them  from  his  high  seat  with 
How  much  're  yer  rooms?"  Then,  with  the  price 
m  his  eye,  he  «  sized  up  "  the  front  of  the  building, 
shook  his  head,  and  drove  on. 

He  wanted  something  new;  no  "second-hand"  flats 
for  him.  He  did  not  intend  to  pay  more  than  fifteen 
dollars  a  month  rent;  and  he  did  not  wish  more  than 
lour  or  nve  rooms. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  before  he  came  on  the  row  of 
apartment  houses  that  are  known  to  the  neighborhood 
of  Second  Avenue  and  Twelfth  Street  as  "  The  Honey- 
moon Flats '';  but  it  did  not  take  him  ten  minutes  to 
decj^e  that  he  had  found  his  home.  The  last  of  the 
buildings  had  just  been  opened  for  occupancy;  it  was 
m  red  brick  striped  with  white-stone  facings;  there  was 
8  shimng  brass  hand-rail  down  the  front  steps;  the  halls 
were  gay  with  crimson  burlaps;  and  on  the  fifth  floor 

Bigns  of  red,  green,  and  gold,  to  rent  for  twenty  dollars 
a  month. 

The  fact  that  the  houses  were  called  «  The  Honey- 
moon Rats  "  because  none  but  inexperienced  housekeep- 
ei^  would  try  to  live  in  them,  was  not  known  to  Carney^ 
They  were  unheated,  except  by  ga^grates;  but  he  was 
not  one  to  thmk  of  heating  arrangements  in  midsummer, 
and  the  grat^  were  bronzed  and  glittering.  There  were 
cracks  around  the  window  frames  large  enough  to  put  a 


178 


THE  HO  7EYM00N  FLAT 


|l-  '    » 


flfger  «,  had  he  looked  for  them -but  he  did  not. 
He  saw  ga«,l,er8  as  resplendent  as  the  most  gorgeous 
he  had  ever  seen  m  a  saloon;  and  they  hung  from^il- 
»gs  that  were  bright  with  squirt-brush  de«,rations  of 

bathroom  shone  like  a  plumber's  window  display 
^^Carney  noddod.    «'S  aU  righV  he  said.    «'S  .11 

b«fw1*  ^'71""^  ■"  "  "  ^'P**^'*"  '^^  <'«>'«  off  to  Us 
breakfast;  but  he  went  roundabout,  by  way  of  Third 

Avenue  and  Canal  Street,  slowly,  'on'lhe  fookouttr 
furniture  stores.  When  he  came  to  one  with  a  gold  sign 
S."  h?:  '?  J'^^'-'-EveiTthing  for  Z^Z^ 

T^  p  r  ^nt.  off  for  cash.     One  dollar  opens  an  ao^ 

h^l-    ?'^\^.'!*^<=«.'"^«eringitover.    Then 

tlS     7  ^^  ^"'■"^  ^'^'^'^^'^'y  "^^  ">"1^  down 
the^  street  with  as  much  noise  as  a  tally-ho 

«ThS;L?;eS!^    as    he    swnng   the    comer. 

sIL!^^^T^  *'°'  ^'  ""^  ^'^^  "*  Mittelbaum  & 
ScWs  "Furniture  Emporium."    On   the  fourth 

.1'  i  "fl'™««  '°'«"^r  had  screened  off  four 
kX  T  ^•^.'fP'^"*  '^  P"H  a  bedroom^^ 
STh  r  ,"  •^r"^-'~«'-  ^d  when  Carney  en- 
Sf  ,f  P'T'o'-' ''^tween  pea-green  portieres  beautiful 
with  yellow  ball-fringe,  he  took  off  hfs  hat.  Four  rS 
red  "damask"  chair,  and  a  sofa  were  arrangi  ab^J 
the  walls;  a  square  "parlor"  table,  as  big  T.  SZ 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT  179 

board,  stood  in  the  exact  center  of  the  room  on  thi;  exact 
center  of  an  «  Oriental "  rug  that  waa  made  of  a  yard 
of  cheap  carpet  with  a  border  sewn  on  it;  and  in  the 
exact  center  of  the  table,  a  very  small  lamp  supported 
a  very  largo  globe-shade  that  waa  decorated  like  a  dyed 
Easter  egg. 

A  "  pier  mirror  of  French  glass  »  distorted  reflections 
from  the  wall  opposite  the  doorway.  A  chromo  on  a 
bamboo  easel  stood  before  a  pair  of  lace  curtains  that 
were  hung  to  represent  a  window.  Everything  waa 
bnlhant  with  varnish,  rich  with  soroll-saw  carving,  up- 
holstered in  imitation  plushes  and  ball-fringe.  Carney 
looked  around  him  in  awed  silence;  and  when  the  sales- 
:^an  turned  his  back  to  lead  the  way  into  the  bedroom, 
the  big  truckman  furtively  smoothed  his  hair. 

That  bedroom -from  its  "golden  oak  dressing-case 
and  wash-stand"  to  its  "elegant,  brass-trimmed,  steel, 
enameled  bed  "-was  luxuriously  complete.  In  the 
dimng-room,  an  "oak"  table  was  set  with  "decorated 
Ei^lish  dishes,  as  thick  as  quick-lunch  china.  An 
elegant  sewing-machine  with  a  five-year  guarantee" 
stood  at  the  foot  of  a  puffy  leather  couch.  There  were 
forty  pieces  of  tinware  in  the  kitchen,  a  "goiden  oak  " 
refrigerator,  ten  yards  of  oilcloth -« everything  to 
make  home  comfortable  and  a  woman  happy." 

Carney  said,  with  a  heavy  affectation  of  nonchalance- 

I  guess  this  '11  do."    He  went  down  into  his  bulging 

trousers  pocket  for  the  roll  of  bills  he  had  drawn  from 

the  bank.     "  I  got  my  truck  outside.     I 'U  jus' take  the 

stuff  along  with  me." 


ISO 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


There  were  difficulties,  but  he  overcame  them  all. 
Ao  carpets  went  with  the  $129  flat;  he  paid  ejtra  for 
them  and  got  a  superb  design  of  yellow  flowers,  as  big 
as  pumpkins,  on  a  flaming  scarlet  ground.  There  was 
a  cotton-batting  "do^m  comfortable"  on  the  bed  but 
no  sheets  or  blankets;  he  bought  them  wholesale  ou  the 
lower  floors.  If  there  was  anything  he  seemed  likely 
to  forget,  the  salesman  tactfully  reminded  him  He 
hired  Mittelbaum  &  Schwarz's  official  carpet-layer  to 
help  him  move  in;  and  having  paid  $25  on  account  and 
signed  an  agreement  to  pay  $2  a  week  thereafter,  he 
took  his  center-table  in  one  hand  and  his  parlor  lamp 
in  the  other  and  led  a  procession  of  employees  with 
chairs,  tables,  pillows,  and  tinware  to  his  truck. 

"  Shake  yerselves,  now,  boys,"  he  said.  "  I  ain't 
got  all  day  on  this  job." 

They  shook  themselves.  By  midday,  the  parlor  car- 
pet  was  laid;  a  green  matting  was  down  in  the  dining^ 
room;  the  ten  yards  of  oilcloth  adorned  the  kitchen; 
and  Carney,  standing  in  the  disorder  of  the  bedroom 
where  all  the  furniture  was  piled,  smiled  around  him 
on  the  beginnings  of  his  happiness  —  and  felt  hungry. 
It  reminded  him  that  his  1»am  had  not  been  fed. 

He  was  alone  in  his  own  house  all  afternoon,  puttimr 
things  to  rights.  The  front  room  was  easily  arranged 
because  he  remembered  exactly  how  it  had  been  set  up 
m  the  furniture  store;  but  the  bedroom  gave  him  a  bad 
half-hour.  The  side  pieces  of  the  bed  did  not  fit  the 
ends;  the  brass  baU-trimmings  came  off  in  his  impa- 
tient grip ;  the  pillows  would  not  go  into  their  slips  until 


Jiil 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


181 


he  took  them  betwet^  big  knees  and  drew  the  cases  on 
thorn  like  stockings.  The  pillow-shams  he  spread  on 
the  wash-stand  and  dressing-table. 

By  four  o'clock  he  had  the  forty  pieces  of  tinware 
arranged  on  hooks  around  the  kitchen,  and  the  agate- 
ware kettle,  filled  with  water,  set  on  the  gas-stove.  It 
w  4  then  he  found  that  there  was  no  gas  in  the  pipes ; 
bu  'le  janitor,  frantically  summoned,  led  him  to  the 
meter  in  the  bathroom  —  a  "  quarter-in-the-slot "  tene- 
ment-house meter  —  made  change  of  a  dollar  for  him, 
and  showed  him  how  to  put  his  money  in.  The  rest 
was  a  matter  of  hanging  the  ^.-urtains  and  the  chromos 
in  the  front  room.  Carney  shook  his  head  doubtfully  at 
one  of  the  latter  —  a  picture  of  a  yellow  horse  dragging 
a  sleigh-load  of  wood  up  a  forest  road  in  a  snow-storm. 
"  Dam  mut,"  he  said.  "  He  'd  ought  t'  Ve  had  a  team 
fer  that  haul." 

But  the  crowning  audacity  of  his  day  was  the  pur- 
chase of  a  delicatessen  dinner  —  cold  chicken,  sweet 
pickles,  potato  salad,  S-viss  cheese,  bologna,  rye  bread, 
a  wooden  plate  of  butter,  and  four  bottles  of  imported 
English  ale.  He  spread  it  on  the  table,  in  the  dishes 
of  the  "  decorated  English  tea-set,"  drew  up  two  chairs, 
and  surveyed  hif  work  from  the  doorway  with  a  chuckle 
of  uncontainable  delight. 


If  Mrs.  Carney  had  been  a  bride  out  of  a  romance, 
she  might  have  entered  that  flat  in  the  most  adorable 
ecstasies    of    appreciation.     But,    unfortunately    for 


182  THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 

X'u  X"' ""  ""*  "'"""*••'' '""  ••"«  »'•''  »-> 

She  had  repented  of  leaving  him,  the  night  before 

and  rfie  had  humed  down  to  her  work,  that  momine  ex 

men  he  had  not  appeared  at  luncheon  hour,  .he  had 
ir  ^  "''"'f  »'"'*  «he  had  not  been  abie  to  eat;  and 
ti^e  afternoon',  parade  in  faU  coatume.,  with  the  thcr 
mometer  at  86o,  had  worn  her  weak.    At  six  o'clo^l 

;  "hr^r  a"'.t'^  ""^'^^  ">  -^"-  ^-  !^- 

at  hi.  rooms.    And  he  was  at  the  comer  to  greet  her 
W.A  a  «ni  e  that,  in  the  circumstances,  was  iSe 
i„fl!!«l?   T""*  ""^  '"•itatii'lEly  incomplete  and 

ZlX  '"T"**"^  ^"  '*'"  '"»«'  *°  &"J  that 

her  bad  temper  could  not  chafe  a  geniality  in  him  that 

btZ  "T    '  *'«"r PP''-"*-     She  was  peevish  with 
fha^'^;«,        ""'*'''  ^':  •^''"•*'  «*  °°°*     She  insisted 

di^:  i^ht*  n:.::^.  ^"^^^  '"''■     ^^«^  -><^  ««» their 

She  would  have  left  him  again,  but  her  day',  ex- 

penence  had  made  her  wise.     She  yielded  at  laft  in  a 

nothmg  but  grrn.  They  had  to  stand  m  the  streetcar 
She  counted  the  four  flights  of  stair,  to  the  flat  S 
her  jaw  set  on  a  determination  to  disappoint  the  eaeer 
assurance  with  which  he  led  the  way  ^ 

He  unlocked  the  parlor  door  and  ushered  her  in. 


I 


THE  HONEYMOON  FIJVT  188 


"What  do  you  want  to 
"  I  rented  it  empty,  an' 


She  glanced  around  coldly, 
rent  a  furnished  flat  for  ? " 

"  I  did  n't,"  he  bubbled, 
furnished  it  myself." 

"To^ay?"  she  cried. 

"  Yah,"  he  confessed  more  doubtfully. 

"  And  that 's  what  you  've  been  doing  all  day  1 " 

He  nodded. 

"  Well,  Phil  Carney !  "  she  wailed.  "  If  that  ain't  the 
meanest!  Why -why-"  She  choked  up  with  tears 
and  anger.  "  Why,  that 'sail  the /«n/"  She  sat  down 
in  one  of  his  damask  chairs,  fuir-bling  for  her  handker- 
chief. 

He  closed  the  door  on  his  „asco.  "  W  11  say  "  he 
began.  ' 

"Aw,  shut  up,"  she  wept.  "You  go  n  do  every- 
thing wrong.  I  bet  you  got  the  dangdest  lot  of  old 
]unk  — " 

"  I  ain't,"  he  defended  himself.  "  I  got  the  best 
they  had." 

"  The  best  they  had !  "  She  summed  up  the  shoddy 
magnificence  of  the  parlor  in  a  sweeping  glance  of  dis- 
trust 

He  turned  his  back  on  her  to  look  out  of  the  window. 
She  whisked  into  the  bedroom.  "Ach!"  he  heard 
her  cry.  "Pine I  .  .  .  Cotton  battin'I  .  .  .  Excel- 
sior I  It  ain't  even  a  hair  mattress  I  "  She  flung  into 
the  dining-room  — and  stopped  in  the  doorway. 

The  pitiful  mute  expectation  of  the  two  chairs,  drawn 
lip  to  the  delicatessen  dinner,  confronted  her  with  a 


184 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


dumb  reproach.  Her  face  changed  slowly,  her  eye- 
brows still  knitted  in  a  scowl  that  began  to  twitch  un- 
certainly, her  mouth  trembling  in  a  doubtful  slant. 

When  she  came  back  to  him  in  the  front  room,  she 
took  him  by  the  two  ears,  from  behind,  and  shook  his 
head  from  side  to  side.  "Dam  yon,  Phil,"  she 
said,  between  laughing  and  ciying,  "if  you  ain't  the 
darnedest  Lig  baby  — " 

He  turned  around  and  saw  her  face.     "  Well,  say " 

She  had  come  to  marriage  as  a  strayed  cat  comes  to  a 
saucer  of  milk,  with  a  boldness  that  is  bom  of  hunger, 
aud  a  tense  wariness  that  does  not  relax  under  the  first 
caress.  To  escape  from  her  single  life  of  self-supported 
loneliness,  she  would  have  married  any  one  of  whom 
she  was  not  altogether  afraid;  and  she  was  not  afraid 
of  Carney.  She  had  for  him  a  feeling  that  was  slightly 
contemptuous  even  when  it  was  most  tender  —  a  feeling 
that  held  him  off  and  smiled  at  him  with  an  amused 
tolerance,  at  best. 

It  was  with  this  smile  that  she  sat  down  to  their  cold 
dinner.  But  in  the  middle  of  the  meal,  she  gathered 
—  from  something  Carney  said  — that  he  did  not  ex- 
pect her  to  go  back  to  her  work  in  Sturm  &  Bergman's  • 
and  she  was  stmck  dumb.  She  had  been  prepared  to 
work  until  the  care  of  a  family  should  keep  her  at 
home.  She  listened  to  him  with  a  pathetic  expression 
of  wistfulness  and  doubt,  while  he  —  in  clumsy  apologv 
for  having  furnished  the  flat  without  consulting  her  — 
took  out  his  bank-book  and  explained  his  indebtedness 
to  the  "  Furniture  Emporium."     «  The  stuff  ain't  all 


THE  HONEYMOON  FIAT  186 

paid  fer,"  he  said,  «  an'  we  won't  never  pay  fer  it  un- 
less they  take  back  what  yuh  don't  like,  an'  give  yuh 
aomethin'  else  'at  yuh  do." 

He  passed  the  book  to  her  to  keep,  as  the  treasurer 
of  the  household.  She  turned  it  over  in  her  hands  as 
if  it  had  been  a  jewel-box.  «  You  better  look  out," 
she  said  with  a  tremulous  langL    "  I  '11  break  yon  1 " 

Carney  looked  at  her,  solemnly  trustful.  "  A'  right. 
We  go  broke  together  now." 

And  suddenly  she  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face  and 
began  to  sob. 

She  was  somewhat  tearful  again  in  the  morning 
when  he  left  her  to  go  to  his  work;  and  she  hung  out 
of  the  front  window  to  wave  him  good-by  as  he  turned 
the  comer  far  below  her.  He  was  taking  word  to 
Sturm  &  Bergman's  that  their  cloak-model  had  left 
them;  and  she  drew  in  from  the  window-sill,  and  turned 
to  look  down  the  little  flat,  with  a  new  light  in  her  face, 
all  the  domestic  instincts  stirring  in  her  chokingly. 
The  inherited  desire  to  be  protected,  sheltered,  housed 
in  respect  and  love,  took  her  in  its  fulfilment  with  a 
hysteric  swelling  of  the  heart ;  and  she  clasped  her  hands 
under  her  breast  and  drew  in  a  long  breath,  her  eyes 
still  shining  with  tears,  her  thin  lips  set  in  that  hun- 
gry pout  with  which  a  child  aaks  for  either  food  or 


She  walked  slowly  back  to  the  dining-room  and  sat 
in  Carney's  chair,  stroking  the  handle  of  his  knife  ca- 
reasii.gly.    And  when  she  was  taking  up  the  dishes  to 


ise 


THE  HONEYMOON  FLAT 


carry  them  out  to  the  kitchen  to  be  washed,  she  stooped 
over  them  and  cuddled  them  and  laughed. 

It  was  some  six  weeks  later  that  Mr.  Philip  Carney, 
in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  his 
wife  on  his  knee,  sat  in  the  breeze  of  the  parlor  window, 
enjoying  the  evening  air.  «  Well,"  he  said,  "  how  d' 
yuh  like  bein'  married  ? " 

She  tweaked  his  sunburned  nose  smilingly,  cooing  to 
him  in  the  ridiculous  "  baby  talk  "  that  seems  to  be  the 
universal  language  of  young  married  couples. 

He  rescued  his  pipa  "  Here,"  he  laughed.  «  Don't 
do  that.    Yuh  tickle  the  roof  o'  me  moutL" 

She  pinched  his  lips,  puckering  up  the  cut  she  had 
given  him  in  Dublin  Eow  when  she  struck  her  "  Philly 
wif  'm  hatchet,"  as  she  said.  There  was  a  sort  of 
fierce  playfulness  in  her  manner,  a  rough  fondness  that 
was  all  she  had  left  of  her  old  imperious  treatment  of 
him. 

"  Huh  I  »  he  teased  her.  «  That  ain't  the  way  yuh 
talked  that  night  when  yuh  lef  me  'n  Nint'  Av— " 

She  clapped  a  hand  over  his  mouth.  "  You  promised 
you  'd  never  — " 

He  caught  away  her  hand.  "A'  right,"  he  said. 
"  Not  another  word  about  it  .  .  .  But  how  did  yuh 
like  the  furnished  flat  that  day  —    Ouch !  " 

She  was  pulling  his  hair.  "Shut  up,  then,  wiU 
you  ? "  r»  , 

"  Ow !    Ye-fres  I    Quit  it  I    I  '11  shut  up." 

She  settled  back  against  his  shoulder.    He  grunted 


THE  HONEYMOON-  FLAT  137 

as  he  got  hi8  teeth  into  the  worn  mouthpiece  of  his 
pipe  agam;  and  in  the  contented  silence  that  ensued  - 

^iT  TV^'  ^'"^  **"'*  ^"^  "■^•'^  ^  -erely 
Stl  .f  '^'  "^^  '^'^-^^^^  the  lives  they 
had  led  on  the  pavements  and  in  the  shops  -  those  two 

m  fclf  f  ;'*^  "''"  ^'^'^^  '^°«''''"«  "f  *•>«  eternal 
miracle  of  domesticity  and  mildness  that  had  been 
worked  m  them  by  their  Honeymoon  Flat. 


1     I 


If 'I     •  1 

ti 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 

•OEHIND  the  fat  hedge,  there  was  a  lawn  like  a 
±J  public  park.  The  grass  was  as  close  and  fine 
as  green  plush;  the  undulations  of  the  ground  were 
padded  and  upholstered  with  it;  the  sun  and  shadow 
lay  upon  it  in  a  figured  design  of  leaves.  Great  trees 
stood  about  it,  as  stolid  and  dignified  as  if  they  had 
been  set  out  by  a  butler.  And  in  the  midst  of  it,  sur- 
rounded by  formal  beds  of  flowers  and  bushes,  a  huge 
building  of  ruddy  sandstone,  with  innumerable  win- 
dows, lifted  heavily  a  square,  squat  tower. 

It  was  the  ahnshouse.  On  this  millionaire's  lawn, 
under  these  pompous  trees,  groups  of  old  women  in 
dresses  of  blue  denim,  with  gingham  aprons,  sat  gossip- 
ing over  their  sewing,  smoking  clay  pipes,  counting 
the  beads  of  their  rosaries,  or  dozing  in  the  heat  of  the 
sun  — as  wrinkled  as  lizards,  and  blinking  against  the 
blaze  of  sunlight  that  gave  an  almost  reptilian  sparkle 
to  their  puckered  eyes.  Veterans  in  the  unending  bat- 
tle of  life,  no  longer  able  to  struggle  for  the  food  to 
keep  them  struggling,  they  had  been  brought  here  to 
die  in  peace. 

Among  them  was  a  Mrs.  Judd,  an  old  Englishwoman 
who  had  impressed  the  nurses  with  her  patience  and 
capability.  They  did  not  have  to  use  any  stratagems  to 
draw  her  to  her  weekly  bath.     She  kept  her  room  neat 

191 


193  THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 

with  her  own  hand*.  She  did  not  hide  between  her 
mattresses  any  of  the  useless  trifles  which  the  others 
misered  up  in  a  senile  acquisitiveness  that  went  even 
to  the  rubbish  heap  for  tins,  and  stole  cutlery  from  the 
tables,  and  made  a  hoard  of  moldy  crusts.  She  did  not 
complain  of  her  meals.  She  quarreled  with  nobody. 
She  sat  alone,  placid,  white-haired,  and  frail;  and  her 
skin,  that  had  evidently  once  been  beautiful,  still  pre- 
served on  her  old  cheeks  the  soft  whiteness  of  a  dried 
peach. 

When  a  nurse  joined  her  on  her  bench  under  a  mag- 
nolia tree,  her  eyelids  fluttered  —  wakening  from  the 
blind  gaze  of  a  day-dream  —  but  she  did  not  turn  to 
greet  the  attendant. 

"Lonely?"  the  giri  asked. 
"  No,  i..iss,"  she  said. 

The  nurse  was  a  dark-haired,  dark-eyed  young  woman 
with  a  deep  voice.     She  had  irregular  features  of  more 
chanp  than  beauty.     "  I  'm  going  to  leave  you  next 
week." 
"Yes,  miss." 

She  showed  no  interest;  and  the  girl  explained,  im- 
portantly :    "  I  'm  going  to  be  married." 

"Yes,  miss,"  she  replied  in  the  same  tone.     In  a 
moment,  she  added :    "  When  the  men  want  you,  there  's 
no  denyin'  them.     It  'as  to  be,  miss." 
^^  The  girl  smiled  at  this  resigned  view  of  her  fate. 
"  You  know  what  it  is  to  be  married." 

"  Yes,  miss.     I  've  been  married  twice."    She  kept 
her  ^es  on  the  empty  lawn,  and  the  nurse  wondered 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  8T0EY  193 

what  she  8«w  there  to  hold  her  thoughta  -  what  memo- 
HM,  what  faceg,  what  ghosts  of  old  events. 
Had  you  any  children  ? " 

W?w°'  ^^' «'""•"  She  folded  her  hands  on 
tlk  tf  1  ?T  "Children  are  the  great  thing 
wh  le  they  last^  but  they  go  off  an'  leave  you,  an'  'ave 
children  o'  their  own." 

"  They  don't  come  to  see  you  here  ? " 

"No,  niiss."    The  tone  in  which  she  answered  was 

LS'^^.""^^*''°*'  '*  ""^  absent-minded.  She 
nodded  at  the  view  before  her.  "  That 's  like  the  bit 
o^cropped  paddock  we  'ad  between  th'  'ouse  an'  the 

The  nurse  looked  at  it  It  was  nothing  but  trees 
and  grass.     She  asked:    «  What 's  a  beck ? » 

w«  '\  '^-'T  f''  ~  "^^^  ^'^  ^"««  •"  it-     The  one 

never  eard  al  n.ght  long,  when  you  would  be  sleepin'." 
Was  that  in  England  ? " 

out  a  window  over  the  kitchen  garden  -  an'  the  bit  o' 
paddock  — an'  the  beck." 

"  You  must  miss  it  here,"  the  nurse  said  -  for  some- 
tning  to  say. 

„J?\^'''!  ^^'  '"''*'  ^^""^  ^«  l«ft  Liverpool, 
aboard  sbp,  the  sound  o'  the  water  made  me  cJfo; 

lo^frT  T  'i^P'  "'  "'^^*'  ^''^  *^«  '^^  tossin' 
abou^  I  dreamt  of  It.  An'  all  day  long  the  cloids  went 
by,  igh  over  'ead,  back  to  01'  Cuniston-an'  the 
meadows -an'  the  beck -while  I  sat  on  the  deck 


194  THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 

watehin'  which  way  we  went,  so  I  'd  know  the  way  back 
again."  ' 

The  girl  waited,  touched.     She  asked,  at  laat,  gently : 
"Were  you  all  alone?"  ' 

^No,  miss.     'E  was  with  me.    We'd  run  away  to- 

"  Run  away  ? " 
"  Yes,  miss." 
"  Why  ? " 

She  shook  her  head.     «  It 's  a  long  story.     I,  began 
before  we  ever  knew  it,  when  we  went  to  school  together. 
An  not  such  schools  as  you  'ave  'ere,  miss.     The  floor 
was  all  stone  like  a  sidewalk.    An'  there  was  no  stove 
but  a  fireplace  that  burned  peat.     An'  in  the  big  pot 
that  ung  there,  we  put  the  potatoes  we  brought  for  our 
dinners -boys  an'  girls -an'  marked  them  so  we'd 
knowour  own.    An'  put  the  peat  on  the  top  o'  the  pot- 
Iid,  red-hot    An'  roasted  them  all  together.    There's 
no  such  potatoes  now,  miss -none  so  big  an'  mealy." 
Ihat  was  in  the  country  ? " 
"Yes,  miss.     In  Cumberland.    You  see,  miss,  I  was 
bom  m  London,  but  they  brought  me  to  Cumberland 
when  I  was  a  wee  thing  -  because  my  mother  was  dead 
an  my  father  gone  off  with  'is  regiment.    An'  when 
you  come  to  the  fields,  so,  from  the  choke  of  'ouses  an' 
streets,  it's  tie  wonder  of  life,  an'  you  never  forget 

/rr^.T^Jj'^.'^'i^''^'  '^r-'  ™  the  fells 


—•iv  TT     ,    -r^.,  — •"   ""»»"    across 

With  Uncle  Wilson  the  first  time  I  come  to  th' 
an    ow  red  the  sky  was  over  th'  'ills." 
'  It  must  have  been  beautifuL" 


ouse  — 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STOKY  -95 

il'  tJt^  .?  '"*"'  ""'  **■«  -J"^"  t»  the  ban. 

^  the  bam  was  all  stone  like  th'  'ouse.    An'  th'  'oZ 

was  so  sweet  in  my  lun«     An'  T  mT      ^°l  "" 

beck  an'  ♦!,«>  k-  ^  /  T*    -^^  I  a  lie  an'  listen  to  the 
be.*  an  the  birds  together."    She  paused  to  turn  over 

away  at  market  by  thr.  o'e£  L"  tt  m^ W  ^ 

Ss^:^tLit;---t^= 
^nr^-;^^rtt?:^t'-:^ 


1 1.''  -I 


!    It 


IM  THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 

"  Thejr  iU  trotted  me  the  lune  m  if  I  was  one  o'  tlieir 
own  — thou^  my  aunt  'eld  it  againat  me  that  my 
mother  'ad  run  away  with  a  wldier  before  I  waa  bom  — 
an'  made  me  work,  too,  u  aoon  as  I  was  old  enough  to 
mind  the  baby  an'  'elp  in  the  kitchen  an'  sweep  the 
floors.  But  it  waa  Cousin  William  that  made  trouble, 
plaguin'  me  the  way  boys  plague  their  sisters  an'  teasin' 
me  about  my  red  'air.  That 's  the  way  it  is  with  some 
boys,  miss.  Because  they  like  you,  they  plague  you  an' 
drive  you  about  An'  when  you  turn  against  them  for 
It,  they  almost  'ate  you  —  because  they  like  you  still  i  ' 
you  don't  like  .bem." 

The  nurse  nodded  and  smiled. 
"At  first,  it  was  just  that  we  went  to  school  with 
Arry  when  'e  would  come  down  the  road  from  'is 
father's  farm.    An'  'e  'd  walk  back  with  us  when  school 
was  over,  an'  go  benyin'  with  us,  an'  nuttin'—  all  chil- 
dren together  an'  no  thought  of  'arm  — ridin'  in  the 
carts  to  th'  'ayfields  or  'elpin'  pile  the  peat  when  they 
cut  It  m  the  spring  to  dry.     'E  was  a  strange  lad. 
Any,  miss.     'E  'ated  'is  books  an'  'e  would  n't  learn  in 
them,  because  at  nights  'e  could  n't  sleep  like  the  .thers 
that  worked  on  the  farm  — an'  tired  themselves  out 
—  an'  snored  when  'e  would  be  awake,  starin'  at  the 
dark.     But  then  'e  found  picture  books  at  'ome  an'  be- 
gan to  be  always  readin'  thm  an'  bringin'  them  to  read 
to  us.     An'  'is  father  would  buy  them  in  town  when 
^e  went  to  market,  an'  put  them  under  the  pillow  for 
'Arry  to  find  when  'e  waked  — '  Robinson  Crusoe,'  I 
remember  —  for  it  was  after  'e  read  us  from  '  Robinson 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY  197 

Cn«oe'  that  we  played  it  among  the  rock,  up  the 
bedt,  ^  killed  a  lamb,  an-  'ad  to  bu.7  it  in  the  peat 
bog  .0  Uncle  Wi  «.n  would  n't  know  _  .n'  atorie.  aEut 

tfblTL^rJ""'"-     -'"'  ''-'  ^"  '**-  '^"^  ^^ 

"  Thoae  were  the  good  days,  nji««,  when  we  were  all 

you^g.     We  played  •  jacka  '  with  pebbles,  an'  hop-scotch 

wit  n   t-      ■?:  '"'"''  '"'  '"^  ^"""^  ''P  t'"'  •^^k,  an' 
went  pckm'  w.  Id  apple,  an'  all.     My  Uncle  Wilson 
-d  an  oatmeal  mill  -  with  an  ugly  big  waterwheel  that 
made  a  great  no.se -an  'orrid  big  wheel  that  splashe.1 
an  ra  tied  in  a  box.    An'  'Any  played  it  was  a  giant 
turnin   the  wheel,  an'  frightened  us  so  I  dreamt  of 
It  at  nights,  an'  woke  with  my  legs  tremblin'." 
Yes  ?  "  the  nurse  said.     "  And  so  ? " 
"Well,  miss,  to  tell  the  tru.L,  before  we  were  big 
enough  to  leave  school,  I  was  mad  about  the  boy,  an'  'e 
would  be  nowhere  without  me.     'E  was  as  lean  an' 
quick  as  a  'ound,  an'  'e  'd  do  things  to  make  me  scream 
-like  leapin  across  the  rocks  o'  the  beck  when  it  was 
in  flood,  or  jumpin'  from  the  eaves  o'  th.  bam  into 
th    aycarts  as  they  drove  in.    An' Cousin  William  was 
eavy  like  'IS  father- an'  alow  like  'is  father -an' 
though  e  could  throw  'Arry  in  a  wrastle  'e  never  dared 
tght.     But  It  was  'im  that  carried  stories  to  my  aunt. 

tf  .t"  "!!  ^y  '""'  "  ^""^  ^°""«  ^ffi""-  An-  at 
r?  •  w-n  f*  ''^"^  ^"'^  '^'>  '""««'  °°«  day  that 
Cousm  Wilham  fell  from  th'  'ayloft  because  he  tried 
to  follow  Arry  ,n  some  pranks.  An'  I  -  ,  told  to  play 
no  more  -vith  'im,  '  ^ 


198  THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 

"  Tou  know  W  such  things  grow,  miss.     There  was 
a  sheep  stole.    An'  Cousin  William  told  'ow  'Ariy  'd 
killed  a  Iamb  an'  buried  it  in  the  peat  bog -though 
twas  a  year  gone.     An'  then  there  was  bickerin'  be- 
tween the  farms -an'  'Arry's  father  took  the  boy's 
part  an    quarreled.     All  the  farmers  'ad  shares  in  a 
meadows  where  liey  cut  'ay,  an'  there  started  a  dispute 
about  our  share  an'  theirs.     An'  so  it  went,  till  'Ariy 
ad  to  r-ass  me  without  lookin'  aside  when  we  were 
comin'  to  church,  an'  we  only  met  up  the  beck  when 
I  could  steal  away  from  the  others  an'  'ave  ourselves 
aJone. 

"That  was  near  the  end  o'  the  good  days.  Cousin 
William  grew  to  be  a  strong  lad  -  so  fat  'is  cheeks  shook 
when  e  walked  -  fer  'e  walked  'eavy  on  'is  'eels.    An' 

e  talked  '  thee '  an'  '  thou,'  like  the  rest,  with  their  way 
o  speakin'  without  endin'  the  words,  as  if  they  got  the 
mouth  open  on  a  broad  'oo'  an'  'ad  their  jaws  stuck. 
^  e  plagued  me  now  with  'is  calfs  eyes  — an'  'is 
ribands  bought  on  market  days.  An'  'is  mother  plagued 
me  because  she  saw  'ow  it  was  with  'im,  an'  she'd  not 
ave  er  son  marry  a  girl  with  naught.  An'  'Any  went 
away  to  town  to  study  to  be  a  scholar,  just  when  they 
were  mowin'  the  bracken  on  the  feUs  for  the  winter's 
kindlms.  An'  my  schooldays  were  over.  An'  I 
thought  there 'd  be  no  more  'appiness  for  me  in  this 
world,  miss." 

"  Did  n't  you  write  to  him  ? " 

"No,  miss.     There  was  no  way  to  get  the  letters. 
But  when  'e  come  'ome  for  Christmas,  we  met  again 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STOEY  199 

'rto'tet  '^?ir: ''"'  ?f  ^'^^  ^^^^y^^^  there 
teased  me  because  I  was  so  small  —  but  T  Vt,b^  '<>  iw 

big  an  clumsy.    An' when 'e  kissed  me  good-by  I  kTew 
U  was  the  same  with  'im  that  it  was  4th  me_an'  T 

i  oniy  sung  soft  m  my  own  room  sittin'  «+  t\,^     •  j 
an'  lookin'  out  at  the  Lty  becl^'  '  '  """^°" 

She  was  smiling  the  smile  of  memory  and  soft 

was  like  the  face  oi  an  oW  siWcoir  '  """"^  ^ 

toil'i  ''''''■     "  ^'  -'"  «^«  -^d>  "  you  ran  away 

"J^o,misg.  Not  then.  Not  till  long  after  Not  till 
Arry's  father  'prenticed  'im  to  a  lawyeran'  ull 
Wilson  went  against  my  aunt,  an'  said  T^  make  a^ood 


iC     .     ..    —  ■""™  wnat  'e 

thought  'Axry  'd  forget  me  in  town. 


An'  so  I  went 


200 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STOKY 


li 


^1  !' 


to  church  with  'im  Sundays,  an'  pulled  the  wool  over 
'is  eyes.  An'  there  we  were,  all  playin'  double,  miss, 
the  one  with  the  other.  An'  'Arry  deceivin'  'is  family 
the  way  I  did  mine; 

"  What  troubled  me  most  was  that  'Arry  chafed  at  'is 
'prenticeship,  an'  was  all  for  runnin'  away  to  London 

—  or  to  America  —  to  make  'is  fortune,  if  I  'd  come. 
'E  wouldn't  go  so  far  away  an'  leave  me  to  Cousin 
William,  though  I  swore  I  'd  as  soon  be  wed  to  an  ox. 
We  'ad  no  money.  I  saw  never  a  penny  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end  on  the  farm,  miss.  An'  'Any  was 
not  much  better.     But  we  used  to  meet  an'  talk  plans 

—  the  way  young  folk  will  —  an'  make  love  as  if  money 
for  marryin'  was  no  matter. 

"  Then  one  Sunday  'e  did  n't  come,  an'  I  was  afeard 
that  what  Cousin  William  'oped  was  comin'  true  about 
'Arry,  an'  this  the  beginnin'.  But  that  night  there  was 
a  tap  on  my  window,  an'  the  casement  rattled,  an'  I 
saw  it  was  'Arry,  dark  against  the  sky  that  was  full  o' 
moonlight  'E  was  standin'  on  a  ladder  that  'e 'd 
carried  from  the  barnyard,  sa'  'e  laughed  an'  kissed 
me,  an'  said  it  was  because  'is  father  'ad  found  'im  out 
an'  forbade  'im  to  be  wastin'  'is  time  runnin'  after  a 
girl  when  'e  should  be  thinkin'  of  'is  studies.  An'  now 
'e  'd  'ave  to  see  me  Sunday  nights,  after  all  were  abed." 

The  girl  had  turned,  as  if  she  were  about  to  speak. 

The  old  woman  hurried  on :  "  It  was  'is  nature  to 
do  such  things,  miss,  an'  to  take  more  delight  in  them 
because  o'  the  risk.  I  was  afeard  for  'im  —  an'  for 
myself.     But  that  wore  off  with  bis  comin'  again  an' 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STOBY  201 

again.     'E  was  a  dear  lad,  an'  made  love  like  a  book. 
We  met  at  the  window,  or  sat  by  it,  with  scarce  light 
enough  sometimes  to  see  each  other's  faces  when  we 
kissed  —  whisperin'  an'  makin'  our  promises  an'  namin' 
each  other  fonu  names.    An'  the  guilt  of  it  made  it  all 
the  sweeter."    She  lingered  on  it,  smiling.    Her  smile 
faltered  and  changed  slowly. 
The  girl  said :     «  You  were  —  They  found  out  ? " 
'  Yes,  miss.     Cousin  William  -'e  must  'ave  guessed 
what  was  goin'  on,  though  'Any  was  careful  to  put  the 
ladder  back  where  'e  found  it,  an'  leave  no  footprints  in 
the  garden  under  my  window.     Cousin  William  —  We 
never  knew  'ow  it  was.     But  one  black  night,  when  the 
summer  was  just  warmin',  an'  'Arry  'ad  no  more  than 
reached  the  top  o'  the  ladder  an'  put  'i.  arms  up  to  me 
some  one  rushed  around  the  side  o'  th'  'ouse  from  the 
kitchen,  an'  'Arry  jumped." 

She  dropped  her  voice.     « It  was  dark,  miss.     'E 
didnt  do  it  o'  purpose.    But  'e  came  down  on  my 
Cousm  William  —  an'  there  was  n't  so  much  as  a  groan. 
E  was  all  in  a  'eap  with  'is  'at  crushed  down  on  his 
face  an'  'is  chin'  on  'is  chest,  'is  neck  broke,  dead,  miss. 
1  saw   un  when  I  come  down  the  ladder  an'  clung  to 
Any  an'  told  'im  to  run  for  'is  life." 
"  Good  Heavens !  "  the  nurse  gasped. 
She  made  the  gesture  of  a  fatalist.     «  There  was  no 
undoin'it.    An"Any 'd  not  go  without  me.    An"e 
ad  to  go,  miss.     It  would  be  found  out.     It  would  be 
said  they  'd  quarreled  about  me.    So  I  climbed  back  an' 
made  a  bundle  o'  my  clothes.     An'  when  I  came  to  the 


w. 


'^- 11 


202 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 


1;! 


window  'Any  called  to  me  to  get  all  Cousin  William's 
clothes,  too.  An'  I  did  n't  know  why  'e  wanted  them, 
hut  I  crep'  to  'is  room  an'  got  them.  An'  I  was  shakin' 
BO  my  teeth  chattered  in  the  dark" 

"You—" 

"  I  'ad  but  the  one  thought  —  that ' Arry  'd  be  'anged 
for  murder,  an'  I  'd  'ave  to  'elp  'im  get  away.  'E  told 
me  what  to  do,  an'  I  did  it  I  've  often  wondered  sinw, 
miss,  where  I  found  the  strength.  But  I  was  like  a  mad 
woman  with  fear,  an'  I  breathed  so  'oarse  that  'Arry 
put  'is  'and  over  my  mouth  for  fear  I  'd  be  'card  in- 
doors." 

"  Good  Heavens !  " 

"  'E  shut  my  window.  An'  took  down  the  ladder. 
An'  smoothed  over  the  marks  in  the  loam  with  'is  'and. 
An'  laid  Cousin  William  on  the  ladder,  covered  up  with 
the  clothes  I  'd  brought.  An'  then  'e  took  one  end,  an' 
bade  me  take  the  other.  An'  we  stumbled  derm  the 
paths  to  the  back  door  o'  the  kitchen,  an'  out  into  the 
paddock,  an'  so  over  the  fields  to  the  peat  bog.  I  fell 
once,  miss.  An'  after  it  was  all  over,  my  teeth  were 
sore  to  the  roots  with  the  way  I  'd  clenched  them.  But 
it  'ad  to  be  done. 

"  'Arry  said :  '  We  must  'ide  'im  somewhere,  till  w© 
get  away.'  An'  so  we  come  to  the  place  where  they  'd 
been  diggin'  peats,  an'  left  their  spades  for  the  morrow. 
An'  there  waj  a  pile  o'  the  peats  already  stacked  to  dry, 
an'  'Arry  went  at  them  with  'is  'ands  to  shift  them,  an'  I 
'elped.  I  was  cryin',  miss  —  whimperin'  with  fright. 
An'  we  'ad  to  wait  every  now  an'  then  for  the  moon  to 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STOEY  203 

b^ak  out  of  a  cloud-an'  I  don't  know  whether  I  was 
mo  e  feared  o'  the  dark  that  'indered  us  or  the  «oon 
that  showed  us  what  we  'ad  to  'ide.  An'  'Arry  sS 
-ver  a  word,  but  worked  slow  an'  careful,  S  only 

tot"!:  *  ''"~T'^" ''''' ™°- -- -t «'-  - 

to  see  that  no  one  watched. 

in  "tt'^y  -r  '"^  "^'  P""  '"°^^-  ^^'  tben  'e  dug 
in  the  bog  with  a  spade.  An'  then  'e  told  me  to  i 
away  an'  turn  my  back.    An'  I  feU  on  my  ZL  S 

2  'i^ T?      T  T  ""^  P'^y^'^  ^"'  "^y  '«»ds  that  'd 
we  d  found  It,  an'  no  sign  of  anything  'id     An'  then 

"Horriblel"  the  girl  said. 

wafrilsT""""^"''''^^''-     "It -as  the  only 
way,  miss.     We  went  over  it  an'  over  it  'undreds  o' 
times  after.    An'  it  was  the  only  way  that  '7.!    ^ 
^They'll  think  'e's  run  off  Siryou'M^^lj 

to  try  JVr    '  'if'  '  ''^  '"  ^"'^  I '-  followed 
^aS       w    ^T    ^^'"  ^*  *o  Liverpool.'  'e  said 

at;  i^'^i^lra.'''-  ■  ""^^  ^'^-  '^  ^''  -^ '"  --  '^11  et 
bal^'il'r"l"?1  ""V"-     '^  ''"^  ""^  ''^  '-  father's 


amess  an'  broken  tools.    An' 


'e  brought  me  food  in 


304 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 


the  momin',  an'  told  me  Uncle  Wilson  was  out  a-'  off  to 
town,  an'  the  news  was  abroad  that  I  'd  run  away  with 
Cousin  William.  'E  went  over  to  the  Beck  Farm,  then, 
like  a  man  crazed  with  jealousy.  An'  my  aunt  railed 
out  on  me  —  an'  there  was  no  one  workin'  in  the  peat 
bog  —  an'  'e  saw  that  all  was  safe.  'Is  father,  out  o' 
pity  for  'im,  said  naught  of  goin'  back  to  his  studies 
that  day.  An'  in  the  night,  'e  came  to  me  with  clothes 
of  'is  own,  an'  a  sheep  shears  to  cut  my  'air,  an'  money 
in  'is  pocket  for  our  passage.  An'  when  I  was  dressed 
like  a  lad,  an'  our  clothes  in  a  bundle  together,  we  fled 
away  across  the  moors." 

The  nurse,  stiff  and  silent,  her  eyes  averted,  sat  as 
if  in  judgment  on  guilt,  not  knowing  what  to  say.  And 
the  old  woman  went  on : 

"  At  first,  it  was  all  'orror  an'  grief  to  me,  like  a  bad 
dream.  An'  my  feet  blistered  with  the  'eavy  clogs  I 
wore.  An'  my  legs  were  wrung  with  pain,  miss.  But 
when  I  thought  that  we  'd  done  nothing  wrong  —  un- 
less the  money  that  'Arry  took,  an'  I  made  'im  promise 
'e  'd  send  that  back  from  America  —  an'  there  we  were, 
all  alone  in  the  world  together,  an'  'im  lovin'  me  an' 
carryin'  me  in  'is  arms  when  I  could  walk  no  further  — 
why,  miss,  I  said  to  myself:  '  'E  '11  be  caught  an'  taken 
from  me,  some  day,  an'  I  '11  be  'appy  now  while  I  'ave 
'im.'  An'  so  we  were.  We  'id  by  day  in  the  'edges 
an'  waste  places,  an'  walked  by  night  barefooted  with 
our  bundles.  An'  it  was  sweet  to  'ave  'im  with  his 
arm  about  me,  an'  sweet  to  lie  on  'is  shoulder  sleepin' 
in  the  grass. 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY  205 

"  'AppinesB  'ides  iu  strange  places,  misa.  We  found 
it  there,  in  the  midst  o'  fear.  We  were  like  the  wild 
things  o'  the  wood  that  know  nothin'  o'  this  world  but 
what  we  saw  passin'  us  on  the  roads  when  we  were  'id. 
We  had  clapbread  from  'is  father's  kitchen  —  the  kind 
they  make  of  oatmeal  an'  store  in  barrels.  An'  'e  would 
leave  me  'idden  an'  go  alone  to  buy  food  from  th'  'ouses 
—  though  we  did  n't  dare  do  this  till  we  were  far  away. 
An'  we  were  wetted  by  the  rains,  an'  burned  by  the  sun, 
an'  'ungry,  an'  footsore,  but  'appj-  as  never  was.  It 
was  our  'oneymoon,  miss  —  such  as  it  was  —  an'  I  was 
wishin'  it  'd  never  end.  I  could  've  gone  on  with  'im 
fer  all  time,  wanderin'  like  gipsies,  with  none  to  plague 
us. 

"  I  made  a  fine  figure  of  a  boy,  an'  once  when  we  were 
caught  among  the  trees  at  a  brookside,  'e  named  me  'is 
young  brother  come  down  with  'im  from  the  North  to 
work  on  the  farms.  An'  I  was  so  brown  an'  'ardy  no 
one  would  suspect.  Just  to  be  free  o'  skirts  an'  petti- 
coats, an'  able  to  run  an'  climb  like  a  boy,  was  a  joy  of 
itself.  An'  when  we  came  at  last  outside  Liverpool, 
an'  I  'ad  to  put  on  my  own  clothes  again,  I  felt  as  if  my 
wings  were  clipped  to  go  K&ek  to  a  cage. 

"  Down  amid  the  big  ware'ouses,  built  in  stone  the 
color  o'  smoke,  we  found  a  lodgin'  'ouse,  an'  stayed  there 
till  'Any  learned  about  the  ships  an'  bought  an  old 
chest  an'  some  clothes  for  us  both,  an'  went  aboard  with 
me  at  night  We  were  away  nex'  mornin'  over  the 
water.  An'  then  I  cried,  miss,  for  th'  'ills  an'  the  beck, 
an'  promised  myself  that  some  day  when  all  was  for^ 


i-  11 


VH 


206 


THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  STORY 


gotten  I'd  come  back.  An'  even  now,  miu,  when  I 
«t  at  my  window  upstairs,  I  think  what  it  'd  be  to  be 
in  my  own  little  room  over  the  garden  at  'ome  —  with 
children,  per'aps,  an'  grandchildren  about  me  — instead 
o'  what  it  is." 

She  relapsed  into  the  silence  from  which  the  nurse 
had  first  roused  her,  and  thero  was  no  change  in  her  ex- 
pression except  for  the  tears  that  brightened  her  eyes. 
"  What  became  of  him  f  "  the  girl  asked. 
"  'E  died,  miss,  in  the  West,  where  'e  went  under  a 
new  name." 

"  And  you  married  again  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss.  An'  my  second  'usband  never  come  back 
from  the  war,  an'  my  boys  went  f,  .her  west,  an'  I 
thought  to  make  my  way  to  Cumberland  maybe,  so  I 
came  to  New  York  an'  worked  'ere.  But  I  got  myself 
no  further,  an'  never  'eard  word  o'  the  farm  —  I  wts 
afeard  to  ask  — but  peat  bogs  preserve  a  body,  raiss, 
like  mummies  in  a  case,  an'  I  doubt  not  they  found 
'im  at  last,  an'  buried  'im  right" 
"What  a  life  1" 

"  Yes,  miss.  It  'as  its  own  way  with  you  —  life.  I 
can't  complain.  It  all  'ad  to  be.  An'  now  I  can  sit 
'ere  an'  see  it  all,  just  as  plain  as  I  could  with  my  old 
eyes  if  it  was  'ere  before  me.  Your  body  grows  old, 
miss,  but  not  yourself.    You  '11  see,  miss.    You  '11  see." 


THE  HOT-AIB  HARPS 


THE  hot-air  HABPS 

I 

qiHEexcurMon  barge  was  waiting  at  its  pier,  loaded 

tt  i!"'  ?  ?  "'"'"fP'^^'*  of  perspiring  in.patienee  for 
the  arnval  of  a  tugboat  that  did  not  come.  « I  guess 
Jey're  leavin'  us  here  to  melt  down,"  young  krey 
Maloney  sa.d,  "so  's  the  load  won't  be  so  hL/to  haulT 
The  orchestra  of  two  fiddles  and  a  comet  laid  by  its  n- 
^rumen,.  and  applied  itself  <«  its  handkerchiefs!  "No 
more  ove'tures  till  the  curtain  goes  up,"  Barney  summed 
.p  the  s.tuadon.     «  Even  the  band 's  played  out" 

"  bJT  Z^^  ^"^  ^'^-  ^"-^  •*  ^"^  *»>«  day  of  the 
Ta^«n  t'-^""  ^^'^"'io'^'*  Annual  Picni"-a 
e^3  "^  -^  ^i"""'  '^''^^'  ""'1  '■'-^fo'e  one  to  bo 
^  oyed  more  m  the  prospect  and  the  retrospect  than  il 
would  ever  be  in  the  fact.     «  We  '11  think  this  was  Jun 

perLc'^  *°""''"'^"  ^"^^y  -<>'  f^o-  •'i*  e- 

biwr"S.''L'nv^^  't  '".*'"  ^•"''  "-"^  ""'« 
him  in  I  l,„Tf  •  f  ,^  Meachenoff,  were  sitting  with 
^m  m  a  half  circle  along  the  shaded  side  of  the  barge 

that  showed  them  too  warm  for  words.     On  the  pier  be- 
them,  gangs  of  sweating  laborers  unloaded  hot 
209 


210 


THE  IJOT-AIK  UARPS 


ll  ^ 


Bind  and  pavinj^bloclu  and  dry  haj  and  dusty  nibble, 
from  the  barges  and  canal  boats  in  tho  neighboring  slips. 
"  An'  it  might  've  been  somethin'  cool,"  Barney  com- 
plained, jocularly.  "  They  might,  've  been  unloadin'  ice 
barges."  At  the  foot  of  the  street  a  row  of  heat-ex- 
hausted horses  from  a  croastown  car  line  stood  under  a 
cotton  awning  upon  which  a  stable-boy  was  playing  a 
stream  of  water  from  a  hose.  Barney  said :  "  If  that 
ain't  enough  to  make  you  wish  you  was  bom  a  horse !  " 

His  brother  Tim  put  in,  ill-temporedly :  "  Aw,  out 
it  out,  will  you  ?     You  talk  too  much." 

Mrs.  Maloney  interfered  placidly:  "  Youse  two  'ud 
quarrel  in  yer  sleep." 

After  a  moment  of  smiling  reflection,  Barney  replied, 
unrepressed :  "  I  guess  yov  'd  tliink  ^  -3  were  quarrelin' 
if  we  did  n't  both  snore  on  the  same  note." 

"Letbel"  she  said. 

She  fanned  herself  with  a  crumpled  newspaper.  Her 
husband  tried  to  polish  his  forehead  dry  with  a  moist 
"  wipe."  The  brothe'  muttered  something  that  was  un- 
intelligible. And  Barney  winked,  with  ..^'discouraged 
facetiousness,  at  the  girl. 

It  was  for  her,  of  course,  that  all  this  strained  wit 
of  his  had  been  displayed. 

She  was  a  little  Polish-American  milliner  with  dark 
eyes  that  were  large  in  a  small  face.  Sho  wore  long  silk 
gloves,  and  her  dress  was  an  extravagant  creation  of 
frills  and  flounces  that  seemed  to  have  been  designed  on 
the  same  model  as  her  lace-trimmed  hat.  It  was  too  fine 
a  costume  for  such  a  mere  family  party,  but  she  had 


THE  HOT-AIIt  HABPS  gll 

irl'^M  •  t"^'*""  °'  ""^'"^  '»«'  «"«"-"  "lone 

or.  on  rf  a.  .M„o,.„„,  I,,  j,j  , 

tiai  .ftonoon,  ob  the  I,l.h  q.niioD;  bo  w,.  t'tr^ 

The  girl  h«d  received  Barn-r'.  wink  blanklv      9H« 

Jim  one  of  those  indescribable  looks  ^ith  wSch T 

S^-;;:     ^^  *'"'*  ^''"P*"  ^^  ««'>'"  't-^e  of  large 
pupils  with  a  lurking  smile.  ^ 

f.i-r"'  *?\^'^'  *''""  *•"*'  ^''^  had  met  any  of  Tim's 
family,  and  she  had  been  studying  them  all      Sb«  iT^ 
adopted  the  mother  as  harmlL/t?,  1  fftW 
weak  and  incapable.     She  had  understood  Barney's    J 

.-emnow,^itwro::jbiit%rrnrsc 


i:i 


I 


212 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


Bamey  put  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head  and  re- 
garded her  with  a  bold  admiration.  "  Oh,  gee ! "  he 
sighed,  "  but  this  picnic 's  a  hot  frost !  " 

She  shot  a  smile  at  him  tmder  the  lace  fall  of  her 
hat.  His  mother  replied,  literally,  with  her  usual  pa- 
tient optimism :  "  We  '11  get  the  more  good  of  ut  when 
we  get  out  whur  ut 's  cool." 

"  I  could  stand  it,"  Bam^  said,  "  if  some  one  'd 
only  encourage  me.  I  'm  not  so  pretty,  but  I  'm  a  nice 
boy." 

The  girl  laughed,  drawing  up  her  glove  as  if  she 
found  her  finery  less  uncomfortably  warm. 

When  the  whistle  of  the  distant  boat  split  the  hot 
air  with  three  shrill  notes  of  warning  to  the  barge, 
Barney  stood  up  to  see  a  committeeman  in  the  bow  of 
the  approaching  tug  waving  cheerily  as  it  bore  down  on 
them.  "Well,"  he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  again, 
"here  they  come.  We'll  be  gettin'  Home  Rule  fer 
dear  ol'  Ireland  next  How  about  it,  Tim?  Think 
the  speech  '11  do  it  ? " 

"What  speech?"  The  brother,  as  he  turned  his 
head,  slanted  it  —  one  eyebrow  up  and  one  down  —  to 
rake  Barney  with  an  oblique  and  dangerous  ey& 
"  Don't  try  to  show  off,  now,"  he  growled.  "  You  ain't 
funny." 

"  No,  I  'm  as  solemn  as  a  dead  mass."  He  took  the 
girl  into  the  joke  with  a  twinkling  side  glance.  "  It 
hurts  me  to  see  you  crackin'  yer  fa'- 1  that  way,  though. 
If  you  wanted  t»  laugh,  what  'd  you  co— ,e  to  a  picnic 
fer?" 


1  HE  HOT-AIR  HABPS  213 

''Aw,    f  rgc    it!  '     Tim    thrust    back    his    chair. 

Come  on,  I  a.-^."  He  had  been  aware  of  the  object  of 
Barney  s  humor,  and  he  wished  to  take  her  away  from 
It,  as  well  as  to  escape  himself. 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  pier.  "  Thanks,"  she 
said.       I  'm  comfor'ble  where  I  am." 

Tim  eq,ressed  his  unconcern  by  tilting  his  hat  down 
on  his  forehead  contemptuously  as  he  turned  away, 
^d  she  expressed  her  defiance  in  a  little  upward  thrust 
of  her  small  chin  as  she  looked  around  to  see  him 
go. 

.  "  ^''■*^V'  ^"^^  "*"•"*  *^*«^  ^''^-  The  orchestra 
struck  up  "Tammany."  He  beamed  at  the  girl.  "Oh 
joy  1     Ain't  we  happy !  " 

"  You  seem  to  be  havin'  a  good  time." 
"Well,  come  on  in,  then,"  he  said.     "  I  don't  want 
It  all  to  myself.     I  ain't  selfish.    I'm  gettin'  lone- 
some. 

"  Yeh  young  imp,"  his  mother  scolded.  "  Why  d' 
yeh  pester  yer  brother  so  ?  " 

He  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head,  grinning  at 
her  fondly  "  I  'm  helpin'  him  to  ferget  the  wronj  of 
Ireland.  Fou 're  all  right.  You've  got  a  new  silk 
waist.  But  Tm 's  got  nothin'  to  get  gay  on  -  except 
the  promises  of  Fncle  Mike." 


This  last  was  a  bait  cast  to  his  father,  who  .„».  ,„ 
It  at  once.     "Dang  little  good  he'U  get  o'  thim."  he 


rose  to 


said,  bitterly. 


Whist  now!"   Mrs.Maloneyputin.     "We'll 


ofusgetgoodo'talkin'thatway.    Hold 


none 


^ff 


yer  peace.' 


UM' 


214 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


"  I  will  not,"  he  said.     "  It 's  a  free  country,  an'  I  '11 
talk  me  mouthful  —  if  I  want  to." 

Barney  explained,  to  the  girl :  "  Uncle  Mike 's  the 
Hon'rable  Michael  Maloney,  member  o'  Congress  fer 
the  distric',  an'  hon'ry  vice-president  o'  the  Dry 
Dimers."  He  winked  at  her,  as  much  as  to  say: 
"  Watch  me  get  a  rise  out  o'  th'  ol'  man." 
She  turned  expectantly  to  the  father. 
"Hon'rable  nothin'!"  he  snorted.  "'Sheeny 
Mike '—  that 's  what  I  call  'm  to  his  fat  face,  an'  it 's 
good  enough  fer  him." 

He  was  a  thin  and  withered  old  Celt,  the  skin  of  his 
face  fitted  to  the  bones  without  the  plumpness  of  any 
flesh  beneath,  hU  lips  like  some  soft  leather  that  had 
been  slit  over  the  toothless  aperture  of  his  mouth.  He 
drew  them  up  in  a  sour  pucker  of  tanned  hide. 
"  '  Sheeny  Mike ! '     Me  own  brother !  " 

"  Agh,  let  be!  "  his  wife  said.  "We're  all  sick  o' 
such  like  talk  as  that !  " 

"  Are  yeh  sol  "  he  cried.  "  Thin  it 's  you  an'  Tim 
that  'd  lick  the  boots  o'  the  man  that  put  me  down." 
"  'T  was  him  that  got  yeh  yer  job  on  the  light." 
"Yes  — thinkin'  he'd  stop  me  mouth!  I  kjow 
'm.  I  know  Mike.  'T  was  to  shut  me  mouth  he  did  it 
—  nothin'  ilse.  An'  he  won't  shut  it  fer  all  o'  that!  " 
The  barge  had  begun  to  move  out  from  its  dock,  and  the 
sunlight  on  the  water  shone  in  his  eyes.  He  blinked 
at  it  angrily,  under  the  rim  of  a  stiff  felt  hat  that  was 
faded  to  a  yellowish  green.  "Me  stuck  out  in  the 
water,  with  the  light,  like  an  oold  duck  on  a  rook  1    An' 


THE  HOT-AIR  HAEPS  215 

him  a  oongrussman !  That 's  what  he 's  done  fer  me  I 
That's  me  brother  Mike.  I  know  'm.  An'  I'll  tell 
what  I  know.  He  '11  niver  buy  me  np  with  none  of  his 
gove'mint  jobs." 

The  girl  was  watching  him  euriouslv.  His  wife  had 
made  a  gesture  of  resignation  und  settled  back  in  her 
seat. 

"  ^f,"  Barney  egged  him  on,  "  he  got  you  out  from 
Ireland,  did  n't  he  ?  If  what  Tim  says  's  true,  it 's  a 
good  place  to  come  from." 

The  old  man  turned  on  him.     "  I  was  well  enough  in 

Ireland.     Why  did  n't  he  lave  me  there  ? "     He  caught 

the  girl's  interested  eyes.     "  But  no !  "  he  cried  to  her. 

He  must  sind  the  money  fer  me  passage,  an'  a  letter 

full  o'  lies  fer  to  draw  me  on.     I  was  to  come  out  an' 

make  me  for-tune  with  'm.     An'  that's  foorty  years 

ago  — an'  here  I  am,  five  years  older  than  'm  — an' 

him  a  congrussman,  d'  yeh  see !     He 's  got  himself  made 

a  congrussman,  an'  he  's  got  me  a  job  trimmin'  a  lamp 

on  a  rock  up  the  river  yander,  on  a  wage  that  wud  n't 

fill  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.     There 's  the  sum  an'  substance 

of  all  his  boold  promises,  an'  his  '  Sind  Nick  out  to 

me.     We  '11  make  his  for-tune  1 '  " 

"  Take  shame!  "  his  wife  said.  "  Yeh  've  been  at 
the  drink  again,  er  yeh  'd  not  talk  so  to  a  strangw." 
_  He  wagged  his  head  at  her,  with  an  effect  of  repeat- 
ing and  insisting  on  all  that  he  had  said.  "  That 's  the 
talk  I  That 's  the  talk  that  he  had  to  his  tongue  when 
he  first  tried  to  chate  me  out  o'  me  partnership  in  the 
saloon.     'Faith,'  I  says,  'an'  what's  the  drink  fer 


■'0^ 


216 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


thin,  if  it 's  not  to  put  in  yer  mouth  ? '  '  It 's  to  put  in 
yer  poorse,'  says  he,  like  a  fool.  Says  I:  'I'm 
thinkin','  I  says, '  't  will  be  little  enough  of  it  '11  be  like 
to  get  into  my  poorse,'  I  says.  An'  that  was  the  tnith 
of  it,  fer  he  was  skinnin'  the  till  ev'iy  night  himself. 
'  Little  enough,'  he  says,  '  unless  yeh  swally  yer  poorse 
first,'  he  says.  An'  't  was  not  long,  thin'  befoore  he 
toomed  me  out.  Me  that  'd  woorked  up  the  trade  fer 
'm,  mind  yeh!  I  was  but  drinkin'  fer  t'  encourage  the 
customers.  But  no!  He  took  an'  toomed  me  out  to 
dig  drains.  An'  niver  a  cint  've  I  had  from  'm  to  this 
day." 

"  Have  yeh  not !  "  Mrs.  Maloney  muttered.     "  Thin 
many 's  the  dollar's  worth  of  help  yer  wife 's  had  — " 
"  Niver  a  cint!  "  he  said.     "  Fer  niver  a  cint  wud  I 
take.     Though  I  was  to  starve  fer  it!" 

"  Why  did  n't  you  go  into  politics  yerself,"  young 
Barney  prodded  him.  "There's  money  in  politics. 
You'd—" 

"  Did  n't  I  ?  "  He  turned  to  the  girl,  as  if  he  felt 
himself  on  his  defense  before  her.  "Whin  he  was 
ruunin'  fer  alderman  —  an'  th'  others  put  up  oold 
Diedrichs  ag^'in'  'm  — was  n't  I  the  chairman  of  the 
comity,  fightin'  Mike  ?  An'  what  did  he  do,  think  yeh  ? 
He  bought  up  one  of  our  lads  that  had  the  buyin'  of  the 
drinks  fer  a  rally  we  was  havin',  the  night  befoore  th' 
iliction  —  an'  he  had  all  the  beer  dosed,  so 's  the  next 
day  ev'ry  mother's  son  of  us  was  too  sick  fer  to  go  tc  the 
polls.  An'  he  won  be  a  big  major'ty.  He  did  that! 
An'  thin  he  boasted  that 't  was  me  that  dosed  the  drink 


THE  HOT-AIE  HABPS  217 

m    out  o  Ae  party  entirelyl     The  lyin'  scut!     '  Yeh 
fat  toadl'  I  says  to  'm.    'YehVe  rooned  me,'  I  says. 

he  cared.    « Yeh  're  a  most  amazin'  fine  youn.?  roon  ' 

he  «ays.    '  Yeh  better  go  back  to  th'  oold'coZ,;  '"he 

^  '  ,,?.'*'  ^''^'^  ''P  "'^  ■*  l-"!  ^here  th'  ivy  '11  grow 

Z!'X  ^  T"     ®"''''  ""^^  ^""^  -  thatl\.'\; 
that  d  brought  me  out  to  make  me  for-tune,  mind  yeh! 

Mud^eb^^that,now,...Sor^,,eday,Mike.     i:'^ 

anfL^K?  t"7^'\^''  ^°'°«  to  «  pathetic  huskintjs, 
tht  t    t  .        "^  '^  *°  '^'^P  ''^'^'^  *«"«•    Barney  sa^ 
that  the  girl  was  not  finding  it  amusing.     "  Say!  "  he 
turned  to  her.     "  Come 'n' have  a  lem'nade.     They'l 
be  dancm-  down  on  the  groun'  floor." 
She  rose  at  once. 

ful'JjT''"  ^  ^'"'^'"  ^*™^^  ^"^'^  '^""^'f'  <>^r. 

His  father,  used  to  these  sudden  departures  of  his 

audxence  when  he  would  be  airing  his  grievances,  showi 

no  resentment-no  interest  even.    The  moth  r,  witS 

rehef  the  accustomed  companionship  of  silence  that  was 
the  genius  of  her  married  life. 

dectSTv.'"?  *'  ^;'  '"'"^"  *^''  ^•'y  *^°"g  the  crowded 
m2.  i  J"g«.  through  the  music,  and  the  odors  of 
picmc  baskets,  and  the  games  of  children  who  chased 
one  another  and  screamed.     She  said:     "That's* 


I 


218 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPs 


I  I 


great  song  an'  dance  he's  got  about  your  uncle." 
Aw,  that  'b  all  hot  air,"  Barney  replied,  "  There  'a 
nothin'  but  kicks  in  our  fam'ly.  Did  n't  you  ever  hear 
Tun  on  the  wrongs  of  Ireland  ?  Th'  ol'  man  ain't  one- 
two-three  with  him." 

She  felt  that  she  was  involved  in  relations  with  a 
lamily  that  she  did  not  understand.  Having  a  Hebraic 
respect  for  parents,  she  was  sorry  for  the  father,  but 
she  saw  that  Barney  considered  him  amusing,  and  she 
mistook  this  amusement  for  contempt 


Well,  It  s  a  crime  to  tease  Tim,"  he  confessed  to 
her,  over  their  lemonade.  "  It 's  stealin'  milk  from  a 
baby -but  he'll  make  himself  sick  with  this  Dry 
Dime  Dolan  bus'ness  if  some  one  don't  stop  him." 
"  I  thought  you  said  there  was  money  in  politics  " 
"Not  fer  Tim.  They  're  just  usin'  him  fer  a  spell- 
binder.  They  put  him  up  to  talk  the  wrongs  of  Ireland 
so  8  you  won't  notice  wrongs  nearer  home.  They  're  a 
lot  o'  grafters,  an'  he  does  the  grindin'  fer  them.  He 
might  s  well  be  capper  to  a  con  game." 

"  That 's  a  sweU  way  to  talk  about  your  own  brother." 
Oh,  well,"  he  laughed,  "it's  all  in  the  fam'ly. 
How  re  you  goin'  to  cotton  to  me  fer  a  brotherin- 
law  f 

''  Me  ?    I  don't  know  as  I  want  the  job." 
"I'll  take  mine  — unless  you  got  a  better  one  to 
gi  me." 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS  219 

Jt.*""'  *"  '"P  ''^'  --^'^  -t,  but  with  indifferent 

LoZ" '"  •"  "'  '"  "  ^°^'  <^"-^'  ""  rigtt,  all  right. 
She  had  choked  on  a  laueh.     Shn  „      i.  j  • 

straw  ?»  unnjferi    Did  you  swally  a 

^^         «M  loow  bidL  to  ^  Tim  „„Ji^  i,j|^j 

"  Sav »  >,»      -J       :  *°*  *°  dance." 

makelLi/o^l^t'^rr  T^'   "^"'^  -'* 
up  to  you."  '  "^"  "  «'  ^^''^^  ".  Bee  ?  It  'g 

her'hat'"'*  '"""  "''^*  ^""^  •^--"    She  straightened 

Je^uP  '"     ^'''^  •'°'"''  -«>  -«  -->  er  you  don't 
"  Oh  ?    Is  that  so  ? " 
"  That 's  what  I  said." 


.  f 


I: 


ii  ? 


220 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


She  had  the  blood  of  a  Polishwoman  in  her.     "  Yon 
can  do  what  jou  like,"  she  said  icily. 
"  Are  you  comin'  J " 

"  Not  if  I  know  it.  No."  She  reached  her  glass. 
He  glared  at  Barney.  "  That  settles  it."  He  swung 
on  his  heel  and  went  back  to  the  bar  where  he  had  been 
standing  in  a  line  of  picnic  oflScials.  Barney  followed 
him  with  his  eyes,  half  amused  and  half  apprehensive. 
"  Hello  1  There 's  Uncle  Mike,"  Barney  said,  in  rji 
attempt  to  cover  the  silence.  «  He  must  'a'  missed  the 
boat,  too." 

The  girl  did  not  reply.  When  he  turned,  she  met 
him  with  a  blazing  scrutiny,  and  he  laughed  to  ease 
her  indignation. 

"Wouldn't  that  jar  you!"  he  said.  "Tim's  on 
horseback,  eh  ?     D'  you  care  ? " 

She  drank  her  glass  to  the  dregs.  "  Not  a  whole  lot." 
She  rose,  throwing  back  her  shoulders  and  settling  her 
belt  with  arms  akimbo,  smiling  on  him  brilliantly.  "  I 
saw  a  shady  place  out  at  the  back." 

"  Thib  'a  where  I  come  in,"  he  said.  "  Trot  me 
along." 

It  was  the  parental  opinion  that  there  was  a  "  deal 
o'  the  divil  "  in  Barney,  and  his  relations  with  his  more 
mtense  brother  had  always  been  sardonic  "  You  don't 
want  to  take  too  much  stock  in  anything  Tim  ever  says 
when  he's  on  his  ear,"  he  counseled  her,  as  they  went. 
"  Rub  him  th'  other  way  the  next  time  you  see  him, 
an'  he  '11  ferget  all  about  it." 

"Will  he?    Well,  /  won't." 


THE  HOT-AIE  HABPs 


221 


"  A'l  risrht "     T  ^       squared, 

yo.  r  handX  4  "^^""^"^  ""'''''''''"''^     "  I  'U  hold 

goin'tosit?"  Thev!fL^  T°°-  Where 're  you 
i-eld  "  liquid  refrltet"  a^^-  "  ^^  ''^  ''°-  "^^t 
not  a  chair  vacam.  "Here'-I  mI'"  ^^="*  ^«« 
box,  "they  won't  needllMW  *m,  i  ^'^*'"«  'J"™  « 
Make  yourself  at  h^me  »  *""  ^  ^*'*'*  -^rinkin'. 

aswelldresserferap "t^'S^f «  ?-.  "you're 
done  by  one  o'  those  SlvelT       .  "u  '^  ^°"  '"^  ''^^ 

She  a.eepted  thia  SirttTo"   "h    S""^"'' 
'evenge  on  the  elder  brothe       "  D-  vo^f  °^  °^  ^^' 

referred  to h^rgW^;"  '"*  *^°-  ^S^r  n^uffler."    He 

haS  her  tr**"'  "''^  ^'^ ' "    She  spread  her 

"  They  're  in  the  wav     T  '<J 
ham.    Ain't  they  hot?"  '°°"  ^"^"^  »  "anvas 

She  nodded.     "Kind  o'"    8J,„  .    , 
manner  that  pretended  t„  L  •  ^"^  ™®  "ff.  »  a 


l«  . 


Ih 


aaa 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


1 


He  took  t'  J  hand  —  imitating  her  interested  manner 
—  scrutinizing  it  and  comparing  it  with  his  own  ciga- 
rette-stained fingers.  "  That 's  a  swell  little  fin,"  he 
said.  "Gi'  me  that  to  take  home  with  me,  will 
you  ? " 

"  It  don't  go  alone." 

"  It  don't }     They  only  sell  by  the  pair » " 

She  nodded,  her  face  coquettishly  serious.  "  I  'm 
thrown  in  with  them,  too." 

"All  right,"  he  said,  putting  the  hand  in  his  coat 
pocket.     "  I  '11  take  the  lot." 

She  leaned  back,  smiling  at  him  intimately.  "  You 
ha  I J  n't  asked  how  much  it 's  worth." 

"Gee!  I  thought  you  were  givin'  them  t»  me. 
What  d'  you  want  fer  'em  ?  " 

"  Oh,  lots  o'  things." 

"  I  could  love  you  a  whole  lot." 

"  I  've  heard  that  song  before."  She  withdrew  her 
hand. 

"Here,  hoi'  on  I"  he  said,  putting  it  back  in  the 
pocket.     "  That 's  mine." 

She  hinted,  demurely :     "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  let 's  see.    Board  an'  keep,  eh  !  " 

"  What  sort  o'  board  ? " 

"  Bread  an'  cheese  an'  kisses." 

"  It  takes  two  to  make  kisses." 

"  All  right.    You  can  help." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  know  how." 

"  I  '11  show  you."  He  glanced  around,  as  if  prepar- 
ing to  follow  up  his  offer. 


THE  HOT-AIH  HAfiPS 


look."  i-revioug.     I  m  not  as  eagj  aa  I 

"AH  right"    He  settled  back  .gainst  tl.«  »« 
i  ou  were  tryin'  to  m»t  t^        i^     •Hsa.mn  Vxe  boxes. 

dear  at  twict  7Cpltl'Z7  r'T"^'  ^°"  ''  ^ 
"ot  as  pretty  as  you  look.  "1'  "'/  "'•°''-  Y°"  '« 
at  that  I"    ^'"y°''^°°^^    ^'you're  second-handed, 

■no  smacked  it  himself   „;n. 
Bively.     « I  don't  nid  yoL  tolTha^T  '"''  '"■P"" 
not  such  a  stunt"  •^°"  ***  <*o '^at  fer  me.     That's 

Shegi^Ied.     "Tou'recrazyl" 
J!fo,  I  m  not     I'm  jn  lo^^"     TT«    •  u  ^  . 
bnous  y.     "  Wer«  ^>  „„      •     ,  ^^  ^'K^ed  lugu- 

We  wilh  me."       ^       '  '"  ^°"' '    ^'''^^  °°  an'  beTn 

;;jou'dmakefnno'me,ifIwas." 

No   I  would  n't     Jus'tiyme." 
^  rhat  s  what  I  Jee„  doin' " 

^^  But  you  did  n't  tell  me.     I  did  n't  know." 
weli,  you  know  now." 

swdl"?"''"    ^«  ^"«h'-ed  at  once.     "Say,  ain't  it 

"  D'  yon  like  it  ? " 

rSV"'"""^^'     Don't  you?" 
«lyly^"'"""    ''■^^"^''"^-'i^ack  in  his  pocket. 

He  folded  his  arms,  hugging  himself.     «  jf  y,  ,,„ 


ill 


SS4 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


I 

i 


go  back  on  me  now,"  be  said,  "  I  '11  get  a  gun  an'  blow 
my  hat  off.    Hello,  Pop  I    Have  a  chair." 

He  accepted  bis  father's  sudden  appearance  as  if  it 
had  been  entirely  expected.  "  Sit  down  an'  save  your 
boots,"  he  said,  placing  another  box.  "  Been  bavin'  a 
drink  with  Uncle  Mike } " 

The  old  man  blinked  bis  wrinkled  eyes  morosely. 
"  I  'd  as  soon  drink  with  the  divil  himself.  Why  did  n't 
none  o'  youse  tell  me  he  was  aboord  9 " 

"  Did  n't  none  of  us  know.    Did  be  see  you  3  " 

He  sat  down,  rheumatically  stiff.  "  That  Tim  tol' 
me  there  wag  some  one  below  here  wanted  fer  to  set  me 
up  —  an'  walked  me  into  him,  grinnin'  at  the  bar." 

"  An'  you  cocked  up  your  nose  an'  quit  him  J " 

He  spat  on  the  deck.     "  I  did  that" 

"  There  's  a  good  drink  gone  to  waste." 

"  I  want  none  of  his  drinks." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  take  a  cigar  then  ? " 

"  T'  'ell  with  'm.     Let  'm  lave  me  be." 

"  He  wants  to  make  it  up  with  you.  Tim  says  he '» 
talkin'  about  you  half  the  time."  He  nudged  the  girl, 
secretly.  "  He  says  he  knows,  now,  'at  it  was  all  his 
fault.  He  says  he  never  got  nothin'  but  the  worst  of 
it,  at  that.  Why  don't  you  let  up  on  him?  Are  you 
goin'  to  bound  him  to  his  dyin'  day  ?  " 

He  grunted.     "  Let  him  lave  me  be,  thin." 

"  He 's  been  tryin'  to  snuggle  up  to  you  through  Tim 
fer  the  last  five  years.  You  ought  n't  to  keep  poundin' 
a  man  when  he  says  he 's  had  enough.  Why  can't  you 
ferget  it,  now,  an'  help  straighten  things  out  ?  " 


THE  HOT-AIB  HARPS  225 

^l\oiTf  rY  "P  '■"  •""  '-"  »»•'  forehead 
dTd  h  ,    Well    '«'?""'•     ".""  '^°'  ''■''  -"'  °f  "'. 

did  not  change  wfen  S  t     ^    ""f-^"  ^^P'^'^'"'' 
with  hi«  « Jr     I-    ,  '  ''""'P'og  himself  forward 

Te Id  th/^.  ""I  ^"/°^'  'ef-^ed  to  notice  him.    He 

enjoyin' yerself."  «  nne  day.    How 're  / 


220 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


She  smiled  at  Barney  as  she  replied :  "  Pretty  good, 
I  guess."  And  the  uncle  took  his  cue  from  the  direc- 
tion of  that  smile,  to  say:  "  Barney  's  the  boy  to  give 
y*  a  good  time.  Eh,  Barney?  Well,  y"  always  did 
have  a  sharp  eye  fer  the  gurrla,  Barney.  How 's  yer 
mother?" 

They  out  off  the  father's  escape  by  sitting  down  in 
front  of  him,  but  he  pretended  to  be  unaware  of  them 
until  the  Honorable  Michael  said :  "  Well,  Nick,  don't 
yeh  know  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  yeh  I  "  he  answered,  under  his  hat. 

The  uncle  smiled  amiably  at  his  nephews  as  he  re- 
plied :  "  If  yeh  knew  me  as  well  as  I  know  meself , 
yeh  'd  like  me  less." 

"  I  like  yeh  little  enough." 

"  An'  I  'm  sorry  fer  that."  He  nodded,  reassuringly 
to  the  girl.     "  We  're  gettin'  to  be  too  old  fer  inmities." 

Nick  flared  up:  "I  suppose  yeh  think  I  ought  to 
be  thankin'  yeh  fer  gettin'  me  the  job  on  the  light  ?  " 

"Why  should  yeh?  It's  nothin'  to  what  I  ought 
to've  done  fer  yeh  —  if  yeh'd  let  me.  But  yeh've 
been  so  dang  indipendent  I  "    His  voice  was  politic. 

"  I  wanted  nothin'  from  yeh  but  to  be  let  alone." 

"  I  know  it.  .  .  .  Well,  yeh  've  had  yer  way.  It 's 
been  a  bad  bus'ness,  an'  I  'm  glad  it 's  all  done  with. 
If  we  had  our  lives  to  live  over  again,  it  might  be 
diffrent.    How 's  the  wife  ? " 

"  She 's  well  enough,"  Nick  answered  sulkily. 

"  That 's  right.  Teh  're  lucky  to  have  a  good  wife 
an'  a  fine  pair  o'  boys."    He  turned  to  the  girl.     "  I  'm 


THE  HOT.AIE  HABPS  j^, 

»;«ipi.t:'i.s:'^  -^^  ^-  • 

.^tr— "..*•  H:itr::r3f 

"  Oh,  all  to  the  good,"  he  aaJrl      «  t  ^     , 
way."  '    "®'*"1-        Lots  o' work,  any- 

Tim  studied  his  tnSes.  ^  J  >  *  n  ^^f';  ^'" '  " 

"Well,  if  I  had  X%,  bot  I  i"''*'  '^"'•" 

nothin' short  o'  the  Pridden^'"     h«   .    l^  ^^P''^  "* 

a  clam  at  a  speech.     The  S  <,„  ^  "^"f^-     "I'-' 

hare  ? '  »    HTcoTered  tJ,„  I  '^^  '''    ^^^ '"  y^^ 

glanced  up  WeC^!?,  v  ?'  '''"  ^ "  ^'-^  ^-' 
his  brothers  ;?::t  "cl""  V^  ""^  '°""<' 
ho.d^     WekafforTtofeSr-tX'^^^"^" 

and  shook  it  p^S^     "Wet  If  '''"  "^  ^'"^  ^- 

yo..     This'sapic^L^S.,T     ««^t  some  bubbles  in 

"  Well,  by    beTuL  '^17  ,T  ^"^  "^  '"'"'■" 
that  hot  T  M   ,  .  ,^"''.®^'     'he  father  muttered,  «  I  'n, 
hot  I  d  dnnk  wuh  all  heU."    One  corne;  of  hS 


■I 


ii*'i 


::! 


228 


THE  HOT-AIE  HAKPS 


mouth  tried  to  droop  with  stubborn  iU-temper,  but  the 
other  twitched  with  a  smile.  He  shuflSed  along  behind 
Tun,  who  followed  the  Honorable  Michael  down  narrow 
passageways  between  the  groups  of  picnic  parties 

Barney  wagged  his  head.  «  There  goes  01'  Griev- 
ances," he  said  to  the  girl.  «  To-morrah  he  '11  be  tryin' 
to  hang  himself  fer  a  traitor." 

"Weill"  she  cried.  "Why  did  he  go,  anyway f 
After  what  he  saidl  »  ^^ 

_  Barney  put  her  off  with  a  laugh  that  explained  noth- 
mg.  Here,"  he  said,  slipping  his  arm  behind  her. 
It  makes  mj  back  ache  to  look  at  you.  leave  it  be. 
felt  close  an' no  one '11  pipe  it  Eh?  How  d' you  like 
youah  honey  ?    Ain't  I  a  sweet  ? " 

She  tried  to  reply  to  him  with  some  dignity,  but  she 
had  earned  the  affair  too  far  to  be  able  to  retreat.  She 
said,  rather  wistfully:  "You're  makin'  fun  o'  me. 
I  knew  you  would." 

"Jus'  tell  me  that  you  love  me,"  he  replied,  "an' 
1  II  never  smile  again." 

She  did  not  answer  him,  but  she  did  not  move  away. 
hhe  sat  gazing  out  at  the  shore  of  Staten  Island,  over  a 
stretch  of  water  that  lay  dead  in  the  heat;  and  her  face, 
in  thoughtful  repose,  showed  some  dissatisfaction  with 
herself.  When  she  thought  of  Tim's  actions  as  the 
cause  of  her  own,  she  tightened  her  lips.  When  she 
considered  the  family  relations,  which  the  morning  had 
discovers!  to  her,  she  wrinkled  her  round  forehead  in 
a  puzzled  frown.  She  disliked  the  uncle;  and  she  did 
not  understand  how  the  father  could  have  accepted  his 


THE  HOT-AIR  HAEPS 


229 

Barney  yawned  behind  his  hand      «  nl 
«»d-     "  Tim  '11  be  back."  ^''^'  "P'    ^^ 

She  did  not  reply.    And  tl,o„ 
silence,  when  Tim  retn™!^  .  ^  T®  ""'"«'  «»'  '"^ 
pallor  of  indiiaTior  sir  """""^  *''^'"  ^''"^  » 
1^-     "Come  to  ci  vo,     r.T  "^''^  *o  ^t 
^    Tim  thm.  hilt^'^'Ifithle'^^-'sPopr' 

low  voice  to  the  girl  nointin.v  ^        '    ''^  ""'^'  «  « 
need  n't  think  I'^'SZ      ^f  "*  ^^'-    "  ^o" 
las'  time.     This 's  thfl-^  .  '^'*  *^"  *^«  ^a^  I  did 
inis  8  the  finish  between  us  sec  V 
He  paid  no  attention  to  Bamevl  "8^3 
lobster,  an'  get  busy,"  ^  *  '^°'^>  you 

He  went  on  •    "  Vm,        u 
!'">  on  to  yo^    an'  IT     ^  "^  ""^  ^"'  "  «"°i«r- 
«traightahead  "f  h^  iZ,''  ?°  ^.•^•"    ^^'  l°«ked 
the  eyes.     «  You  '4;  S   *  ^'"'  ''"*  ^"^''''^  ™der 
«tick  to  it.    You  Teedl  /'"  "''''  "°"'  ■"^'  y«»  '« 

t  wlf  ""^  ''P'*^™  ^ter  ine,  be- 

t  want  vou  nrm.^j     m   ,  '"o,  oe- 


-  :!-"=.     It's 
He  threw  Bamey'a 

off!    You're 


hand  from  his  arm. 

talSn^tT    'f    -J-^^tedly:    "Come 
talkin  through  your  spout" 

^eJ'^wl'''''    ^""°"^'^   <=«'«••     "Am   I?    Y„   .„ 
«ee.      He  turned  and  ahn„u     j  ,  •  ""  H 

little  circle  of  the  curin  '^^  .  ^^'^  ^''  ^"^  through  a 
of  a  quarreL  "°"'  ^''°  """'  ^^'"^^^  to  the  sound 

Barney  said  to  them    as  bn  »„+  j 
away  an'  sell  yer  paZl.^  t,         T'    "^^'  "''» 
7     papers.      They  melted  away  before 


■i   . 


1   I 


•I  'h 


280 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


}f   1 


his  disgusted  stare.  "  He 's  an  Indian !  "  he  said  to  the 
girL 

She  was  putting  on  her  glove.  "  What  're  you  ? "  she 
cried.  "  You  're  worse  'n  he  is  —  er  you  would  n't  've 
stood  there  an'  let  him  say  things  like  that  to  me. 
You  're  a  cheap  lot  —  the  whole  lot  of  you  Maloneys." 

"We  are?"  He  studied  her,  with  an  irritating 
smile. 

"  Make  fun  of  an  ol'  man,"  she  said.  «  That 's  your 
limit,  I  guess !  " 

"  Say,"  he  laughed,  "  you  're  off  your  beat.  That 's 
the  whole  trouble  with  you.  You're  out  of  your 
bunch." 

"  Am  I !  Well,  I  'm  goin'  to  get  out  o'  this  bunch 
fast  enough." 

"  You  don't  talk  Gaelic,"  he  said.  «  That  'a  what 's 
the  matter  with  you.  We  don't  mean  what  we  say  — 
half  the  time—  an'  when  we  do,  we  '11  take  it  back  just 
as  quick.     Me  an'  Tim,  now  — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  about  neither  of  you." 

"  Well,  you  can't  play  me  off  against  Tim.  An'  you 
ought  've  known  it." 

"  Aw,  you  're  a  hot-air  Harp." 

"  I  'm  a  Harp,  all  right,  but  you  can't  string  me." 

She  saw  the  father  returning.  «  I  've  met  Harps  be- 
fore, but  they  were  n't  your  sort.  You  're  all  mouth  — 
you  an'  your  whole  fam'ly." 

Barney  pretended  that  he  had  not  heard,  but  he  red- 
dened as  he  turned  away.  He  was  sensitive  to  a  criti- 
cism that  deprived  him  of  any  superiority  over  his 


THE  HOT-AIE  HAKPS 


ie-    "Buried  the  hatches  r^    "''''  *"  '^''^^ 
Aiie  old  man  sat  down  with  a  an.ff     «  t  t 

Str^L^^-^^-'^-ir-B'^^rSe' 

^"'one^s  in  the  oo^f.Z  tiZ   H  "'  ""  ^^ 

«  she  rose.     She  did  not  spel     Shl*  .      ^""'  ^''^ 

He  watched  her  until  lh!7  '"'' ''°'  "^  *«• 

cursionists  on  the  Ch Ll      /^ '"^  ^"°«  ^''^  «" 

enough  fer 'ml"    And  m  .         '     ^*  «   «°od 

same  attitude  of  futilelv  dlT'  'T^  ^™'"^*  '"  t*"* 
truth  of  her  critici™  !/ .  ^'"^  *^^  *''^^'"'  felt  the 
self-respect     i  Sv    ,1"  '"''^""^  ^'^  ^^  -"-^^ed 

worst  of  them^f^et  ha5  r  '''^^'  ^^  ^«  ^^ 
hi8  kind.  ^  '""^  ^°'  ^^«°  Tim's  loyalty  to 

The  thought  made  him  meek.     "Well"  h»      : 

she  's  well  out  of  it,  I  ^uess      Wt       ,   ^'     ^®  *""^' 

atthebar?    Come  an' Wa  V  T    'I  *  ^'"^ '    ^""^^ 

on  me."  ^  "  '^'"^  ^'th  us,  Pop.     it  '^ 


1   f 


wer'zrwT^;Kiot?;;r^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^ 

■^awneys,  it  waa  because  she  did 


S8S 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS 


I 


not  yet  understand  them.  Tim  made  the  most  ap- 
plauded oration  of  the  day;  and  afterwards,  flushed 
with  cheers  and  congratulations,  he  came  on  Fanny  sit- 
ting alone  on  the  heach.  Their  reconciliation  was  fairly 
complete  in  fifteen  minutes.  "  You  should  n't  're  said 
what  you  did,"  she  wept,  "  back  there  on  the  boat." 

"  I  would  n't  've  said  it  if  I  really  meant  it,"  he  con- 
soled her.     "  I  did  n't  care  what  I  said.     I  was  mad." 

"Did n't  you  mean  it?" 

"  No,  I  did  n't.    An'  it  was  n't  true." 

"  What  did  you  say  it  f  er,  then  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Aw,  say.  Fan,"  he  pleaded,  al- 
most in  tears  himself  at  her  distress,  "  fergit  it.  It 
was  n't  all  my  fault.  I  'm  all  right,  if  you  take  me 
right  I  'm  not  much  of  a  hand  with  a  girl.  I  ain't 
like  Barney." 

"  No.     Thank  the  eats  1  "  she  said.     "  You  ain't !  " 

But  ■when  they  met  Barney,  he  was  so  warm  with 
pride  in  his  brother's  success  on  the  platform,  and  so 
humorously  meek  with  her,  that  she  could  not  find  it 
in  her  heart  to  give  him  so  much  as  an  ugly  look.  At 
the  picnic  "spread,"  to  which  they  all  sat  down,  he 
chaffed  his  parents,  still,  but  with  an  affectionate  rail- 
lery which  the  girl  did  not  misunderstand.  He  waited 
on  them  jocularly,  and  made  them  comfortable,  and 
smiled  across  the  tablecloth  at  her  with  an  irresistible 
"  diviltry  "  that  made  her  gay. 

She  even  discovered  that  old  Nick  had  the  same  fam- 
ily pride  in  the  Honorable  Michael's  success  that  Barney 
had  in  Tim's,  though  the  references  to  "  Sheeny  Mike  " 


THE  HOT-AIR  HARPS  238 

continued  with  apparent  rancor.     It  was  Tim  who  en- 
talking  of  the  English,  later  in  the  evening,  and  so  far 

spoke  of  the  Irish  regiments  and  the  British  empire  as 
Jf  ^e  gloiy  of  the  latter  had  been  the  proud  work'oJ  t^e 

She  was  puzzled. 

r.lI^^^yT^''  ^"""^  """y^"  ''^^  '^^  to  tell  her  shop- 
mat^  ne^  day.  "You'd  think  they  were  fighd? 
Bometimea  when  thev  iln'f  t  ^,.,  A.  ,  ,  snmi 
'ntheyhite.  ^ JJ S Uerit  He 's^j:::: 
an   says  things  about  him -but  he  thinks  Tim's  the 

slyf  Zlr  *':  "T  "'^''  ^°"  *"-  '■^  ^' 

to  I  "    Z  \     T  ^°T  ^°^  *^  "^  «^^'  ^^^"  he  wants 
i,    She  laughed.     "Nevermind.    I  ain't  goin'  to 

If  she  could  have  told  any  more,  it  might  have  been 
to  put  a  tongue  to  that  racial  mystery,  the  char^  and 
con^adiction,  the  appeal  and  the^.pSion,  of  Zw^d 
of  Irish  whom  she  had  called  the  "hot-air  il™ '' 
Perhaps  she  was  wise  to  refrain  from  the  atte^pt^" 


M 


i  t" 


FHE 


REPOBTEE 


If 


THE  REPORTER 


-W  He  was  l£n,  fir  f^  tlf  "•  ""  "  ^''" 
Hotel  Capitol,  where  he  hop^Lndt  '""""''  "^  ^^ 
I*-  Animas  visitor  who  i^S^-?":""^'"'^  "'»»«' 
they  were  called  to  «,  on  t^  •!  '"*^^'«^«d  before 
not  looking  C  eaSrfv  T  TT  '*'""^=  ''"*  ''^  ^" 
were  now  an  o7d  s  orftk,?     '  ^'  ^"'""^  ^"^^''•^ 

hands  were  thnSlt.  ^  ut"?  ''^  ^""^^  «P5  ^s 
was  his  opinion  thal^o^^  ""^^'•^  I^tet^-     It 

in  Colorad^  -^e  It^CH^^cr^r  ^'  '"^T" 
he  had  been  deported  from  the  sttet  T  ^,"'"" 
authoritiea  — and  his  attih,^^  T  7  *''®  ^'I'taiy 
pressed  the  hope  deWd  wjl  """'f  «'"'"'  -■ 
the  prowling  'ewspt^ifn    "^'^  ^"'^  ^''^  '^''^  o^ 

known  as  the  best  SLI     ^^'^'T"'^'    He  was 


288 


THE  REPORTER 


camps  "  tear  oflf "  the  worried  amateur  while  they  con- 
verse dirtractingly  of  other  things.  And  his  whole 
physical  make-up,  from  his  thick  ankles  to  his  big 
shoulders,  was  as  round  and  strong  and  smooth  u  his 
face. 

When  a  man  came  up  behind  him  and  dropped  a  hand 
heavily  on  one  of  his  shoulders,  he  did  not  turn.  He 
finished  the  page  of  the  register  at  his  leisure  and  then 
slanted  his  head  around  — to  see  a  stranger,  baldish, 
with  white  eyelashes  and  a  sort  of  soggy,  fat  face. 

"  You  're  a  reporter,"  the  man  said. 

Colbum  did  not  deny  it  He  rather  took  it  for 
granted  that  every  one  knew  it.  He  returned  to  his 
register. 

"Do  you  want  to  make  a  hundred  dollars?"  the 
stranger  asked. 

He  did,  but  he  did  not  say  so.  He  had  lost  thirty- 
seven  dollars,  the  night  previous,  playing  "loose 
deuces."  He  slewed  the  register  back  into  position  for 
the  hotel  clerk,  detached  his  cigarette  from  his  lip,  and 
dropped  it  into  a  brass  spittoon. 

The  man  accepted  tliese  movements  as  implying  as- 
sent.    "  Come  up  to  my  room,"  he  said. 

They  crossed  the  rotunda  to  the  elevator,  and  Colbum 
walked  in  a  manner  of  absent-minded  indifference  that 
was  habitual  with  him  when  his  mind  was  busiest.  Ho 
had  "  sized  up  "  the  stranger  as  a  mine  promoter  from 
the  East  who  had  a  story  he  wished  to  plant  on  the  in- 
vesting public ;  and  Colbum  intended  to  put  the  hundred 
dollars  in  his  pocket  —  or  as  much  of  it  as  he  could  get 


THE  REPORTER 


in  adranoe 
basket 


288 


foot  over  the  

Fiiher,"  he  said. 


—  and  drop  the  .tory  into  the  waatepapw- 
spatfc     He  dragged  bia  right 


The  man  wore  luede 
tessellated 


floor,  limping.     "  My  name 


Colburn  did  not  volunteer  anything  in  reply. 

»f  ~a1  ^V  '■"  ■^°"  '""'  ^"'•» "  ^  «ked  as  they 
entered  the  elevator.  •' 

''Socky  Mountain  Chronicle."  Colburn  lied. 

1  bought  you  were  with  the  World  " 
"  So  I  was." 
"  Fourth  floor." 

Th«tT  Tu^'f..'^'  ^"'^  "^  ^^'^  «'«-«*<"  W's  head. 
The  boy  had  had  his  neck  shaved,  and  it  made  L  look 
as  if  he  wore  a  w.g.  Colburn  allowed  his  face  to  ex- 
press a  slow  esthetic  distaste  of  that  cut  of  the  hair.  He 
knew,  of  course,  that  Fisher  was  scrutinizing  him  in  the 
mirror-panel  of  the  car.  ^  ® 

They  reached  the  fourth  floor  in  silence,  and  padded 
down  the  heavy  hall-carpet  of  the  corridor  in  s  W 
and  Fisher  threw  open  the  door  of  a  lighted  sittin™' 
gaudy  wuh  scarlet  carpet  and  «d  wills;  and  SS 
entered  wnhout  taking  off  his  hat.  It  wa  a  joke  amon^ 
his  friends  that  he  slept  in  his  hat  ^ 

Fisher,  having  closed  the  door  behind  him,  crossed  the 

seated  hmiself  m  a  rocking-chair  and  took  a  book  of 
cigarette  papers  from  his  watch-pocket.     He  waVLl 


240 


THE  REPORTER 


He  finished  making  his  cigarette  before  he  replied  - 

of  W'"*^"^*^     "  ^  '"'°*  ^''"  *°  ^'^'^'^^  «  frie-^d 
"What  about?" 

fl,r  ^  rr  ^°"  *«  ""k  l*™  four  questions.  If  you  get 
the  nght  answers,  I  'II  give  you  a  hundred  dollars." 

W^w.Tu '*"'*/  '""'"'^  "Sited  his  cigarette,  and 
Sr  .?'  r"^  thoughtfully.  "How'U  you  know 
whether  they 're  right  or  not  ?  "  " '^"w 

"I '11  know." 

"  You  know  the  answers,  then  ? " 

The  reporter  puffed  up  a  screen  of  smoke  before  his 
ejes  and  took  a  sharp  look  at  the  man  through  it,  roU 
ng  the  burnt  match  reflectively  between  a  spa  i 

tt  ri       'r^««'^*  --  !>--  wi'th  niS 
tme^    Fisher  was  leaning  forward,  his  elbows  on  the 

JZv       ?  "''  ^  "'"^  ""*•«''  'y^  g»«--g  with 

"  I  '11  play  the  game  square." 

"NotWng  doing."  He  tossed  the  match  on  the  car- 
pet.       Not  on  those  terms." 

"  ^"^ '  ^^^ '« the  matter  with  it  ?  I  Ve  got  four 
qu«  ions.  The  feUow  that  knows  the  answers-he" 
»ght  across  the  hall.    AU  you  have  to  do  is  to  go  oJer 


THE  BEPOBTEH 


there,  and  say  yon  Vn 

J-,  -d  ^AriZeVVT^^"^  ^  ''''^~ 

bucks  for  each  answer.     Worth  t^^    ^°"  twenty-five 

Colbum  shook  his  hJad  M       ^°*'  "^'^  '' « " 
-Jd  pas«  n>e  out  an' "  d  tif  "l  M  *''  '•"'•     "  ^^ 
«nd  get  the  laugh.    My  tiL '         ^'^  ^""e  back  here 
« I  '11  _«    ki,„  f^  *"°^  «  ^orth  monej." 

-d  thrust  out  a  leg  ;Srh^^^'  ""^  ^  ^^  "^-a- 
Pveyou  twenty-fiJdowl'  ""'"'^P'^'^^t.     "I'« 

'  Well  ? " 

•bought.  '^       """""kl""-,  „«j„pi„ 

Fisher  cIiipL  ri  -  i. 
f^-t.     "  You  a  kiim^St?'':.'  '^"^^  *"  "='-  ^is 
n  the  Snake  Eiyer  ZmT  .'  """"^  ''^ *^>« -'«»<! 
'»  '98.    Write  it  do^7        '^P^'^ '"  '"^^'  <>"t  a  claim 

"  Go  ahead  "    If  m 

^ '^k  htr  ^*  ^^  -i;  tr  n2.'°^-^-^  -^« 

«P  to  the  electric  uS^ZZ:^''T^  ""'  ^^-  ^--ed 
per  calyxes.  He  blU;f  ^  ^« '"  *^/"  bumi^ed  cop- 
y  like  a  man  whoh^'aTll  «^  r**  ^"''^^'^g  »P  b  ^ 
Ask  him  what  was  fhe  na^eT  '"*'  '"  ''"  ""-^b. 
hind."  ^"^^  °^*be  woman  he  hid  be- 

Colbum  had  been  w,t  t      v'*°P  **»  '""7  her." 
^^•«ba.     S„,,i7l-W:^™..^erthebn-mof 

"»e    sharp    roiee 


hit  I  t 


S4S 


THE  REPORTER 


of  Uie  reporter  using  the  probe  — "  Why  don't  you  ahoot 
mm  up  ? " 

Instantly,  Fisher's  face  contracted  in  a  spasm  of  hate 
that  clenched  his  hands,  and  drew  his  legs  in  under  him, 
and  plucked  him  forward  on  the  arms  of  his  chair. 

"Him  I    G him  I    I  want  him  to  live  just  one 

day  longer  than  I  do.  I  want  him  to  know  I  'm  on  the 
other  side,  waiting  for  him.  I-"  He  stopped,  eye- 
ing the  reporter.  "No,  you  don't,"  he  said.  "You've 
got  to  get  it  from  him." 

Colbum  returned  to  his  indifference.     "  I  don't  con- 
tract to  publish,  you  understand." 

"Do  as  you  — please  about  that.  .  .  .  And  you're 
not  to  tell  him  I  sent  you.     See?     You 're  a  reporter 
come  to  interview  him." 
"  What 's  his  name  ? " 

"  He 's  registered  as  *  Sims '— '  S.  A.  Sims ' » 
"What's  his  name?" 
"Bell  — Billy  BelL" 

Colbum  raised  himself  to  his  feet.  "Across  the 
nail? 

The  man  limped  eagerly  to  the  door,  and  jerked  it 
open.     "There."    He  pointed.     "In  there." 

Colbum  slowly  crossed  the  corridor  and  rapped  on  the 
panel  Some  one  caUed  faintly :  "  Come  in."  Ashe 
opened  the  door  before  him,  he  heard  the  one  behind 
nim  gently  close. 


Colbum  divided  all  mankind  into  newspaper  men  and 


THE  REPORTEE 


243 

"  ""'"'J*"  "-  whom  he  caUed  "  barbers  "  i.  V 
contemptuous  moods      Tho  «    .  ,     "*  ''"  '°°''® 

second  the  wriZ     Th^fi    ^v  "T  *^'  ^^*^"'  *»>« 

necessary  fraternizing  between  SHwo  h  f  ""^  """"^ 
ity  of  sincere  friendshin    Ih  '   ."*  "°  ^'^'^^ 

panionaWemomenrCoI'rnH  /^'°/''  ^''  '°°«*  '^^■ 
Bider  with  whomTe  drir  "'  '^*  *^"'  '^  '"^*- 
news  sto^-rd  ta,t?,:;-  ^"^^"^  ^""^  °^  » 

.ide^ofTpa!;tTarT'°'^-'^  '^'^  ^'"^^  ^^^'  -«  -  -t- 
"  barber"  CTS  h  "  ^f"  '^  ""^  '^«  ^^  "^ 
hoodwink  him  anful  l"""/"^.  "  "^"^P"?*'  '"'«. 
But  the  ^T'to  whom  cl  °"*^'''^"  P"^-' 

opened  the  doorM  ^^"^  ^^^"^  ''o^'  ««  he 

whofeal  ai '!  '^^""^."^  "«  *^«  -rt  of  outsider 

— rs/ nltt^-i^^.tfr'^^r™'^^"^ 
-  He;::xrbrd2i?:^^^^^ 

Bed;  and  he  contin„oJ  *  "  »u"-case,  open  on  his 

talk  with  you."  -^  '"^o  to  have  a  few  minutes' 

Siins  shook  his  head  quickly.     « I  Ve  nothing  to  say 


344 


THE  REPORTEK 


to  the  World."  His  voice  was  a  breathy  falsetto. 
He  crammed  his  linen  into  the  case. 

"  I  understand,"  Colbum  said,  putting  up  his  hat 
from  his  forehead,  "  that  you  had  a  mine  in  Idaho." 

"Me?  I  hadn't"  He  clapped  down  the  top  of  the 
case  and  snapped  the  catches  on  it  "  Nor  anywhere 
else." 

"On  the  Snake  Eaver,"  Colbum  added. 
Sims  was  bending  down  to  his  work.     He  did  not 
straighten  up,  but  after  a  perceptible  pause  he  turned 
to  the  reporter  the  tail  of  a  startled  eye.     Colbum's  face 
shone  in  the  light  with  a  plump  and  interested  geniality. 
"  You  've  got  the  wrong  man,"  Sims  said  hoarsely. 
Colbum  replied,  without  irony,  in  a  tone  merely  of 
seeking  further  assurance  of  his  mistake:     "Oh!     Is 
that  so?    Didn't  you  stake  out  a  claim  there,  with  a 
partner,  on  an  island  in  '98  ? " 

Sims  reached  his  hat  and  his  overcoat,  and  caught  up 
his  suitcase.  "  I 've  got  to  catch  a  train.  I've  got  no 
time  to  talk  to  you.  I 've  got  no  time,  I  tell  you.  Let 
me  out  of  here." 

^^  "  I  'm  Sony,"  Colbum  said  as  he  opened  the  door. 
"  I  wanted  to  give  you  a  chance  to  put  us  right  on  that 
story.  Thai  thing's  pretty  heavy,  ain't  it?  Let  me 
have  it"  And  with  all  the  cahnness  of  his  strength  he 
took  the  suit-case  forcibly  from  the  trembling  Sims. 
"  What  train  do  you  want  to  catch  ?  " 

Sims  struggled  into  his  overcoat,  hurrying  along  the 
hall,  pulling  his  battered  soft  felt  hat  down  on  his 
ears. 


THE  EEPOETER 


24S 

7.        it  s  none  of  your  damn  biwineas." 

Colt,™  J  I"  "■•  ""  '»»rf   "J  fMt«l 

t}io„  =t„      J         /^"^™     to  the  elevator  boy.     Whpn 

bill,  Jim?  Hurrvim  ™  "'^f*  Got  Mr.  Sims'a 
-;  one  calls^nT-W  In  h-'^"!*^'  ''*""•  ^^ 
And  when  Sims  had  p3  hi  bill"  C  K  '"\°"'-" 
iim  out  to  the  str^Pt  T-i  j  '  ^°"'"™  "^^««'J 

.0,;.^,  hj„  ..„  ,p  M,  „,t:^°:Tr"'  °"'  • '"' 

side  of  It.     It  makes  no  difference  to  me.     I 


.,:  J 


846 


THE  REPORTER 


:!■  I 


wfflply  thought  you  might  want  to  put  yourself  right" 
Suns  made  no  answer.     Wrapped  in  his  heavy  over- 
coat,  muffled  up  to  the  eyes,  he  sank  back  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  cab,  feebly  obdurate.     Colbum  sat  forward 
on  the  edge  of  the  cushions  to  roll  another  cigarette  by 
Si  ^^J'„°l?^  T'^^  Btreet-lamps.     It  was  one  of 
those  chill  Colorado  nights  that  come  down  to  Denver 
from  the  mountains  when  the  sun  has  set,  but  Colbum 
was  used  to  them ;  he  did  not  even  wear  gloves.    "  Ever 
play  loose  deuces?"  he  asked.    He  added,  in  a  mo- 
ment:       You  '11  be  in  time  for  the  seven-forty-five." 

I 'JZ  t'^~'"  ^'"^  '"'^  " ^°"  *""'*  <J™^  "»«• 

■I  ve  had  this  game  worked  on  me  before  " 

denVftrQ-"*  ^"^  *°  'T'''''^''  ^^  P'»y-     It  ^««  evi- 
dent that  Sim.  knew  his  hand,  and  he  did  not  know 

8-    At  such  moments  you  would  swear  that  there 
was  a  film  drawn  over  his  eyes. 


ni 

the  seat  of  the  Pullman,  « I  don't  want  to  go  back  to  the 
office  with  half  the  story.     I  know  your  name's  Bel! 
and  he  says  you  shot  the  woman  and  ran  o£F  with  the 
0  Wup.    What  I  don't  understand  is  why  you'L  ie 
th«  r/       .T'  ""'^"''^  answering,  and  looked  out 

IT^A  ?  ^"^  ^'■'""P'^^  *"*  ''"^  l««<Je  him  and 
8  retched  out  h.s  legs  as  if  he  intended  to  stay.  Sims 
glanced  around  at  him  pathetically.    «I  didn't  shoot 


^^■HE  REPOBTER 


and  leave  me  alona"  *'  ''""'*'^-    ^^^  «»  away 

innocerc^ralVcorbuTShtr''"*''  V"^  ^'"^'^ 

«  7°",*°°'' ^<"ean.„p,  though." 
I  took  my  share  of  it."  '^ 

-t  a  ZteliV  ^"'^"^  ''•  *'«  -ne.    You're 
Sims  shook  his  head  feehl  v     «  /^l  • 
;;  Neither  h  he."  ^*       <^'''«««o.'' 

"  He 's  my  brother." 
"  Tour  brother  /  " 

"We  a^  the  grimace  of  a  mo  J  /^t"*  *"  ''''^^'■ 
nothiug  of  i<i  but  he  sawZo^!!^  "™  ""''"  '°«te 
question  on  his  list  ^'mT'^''^  *<>  ""^  the  first 
island  ?»  "•       "^''t  '^as  the  name  of  the 

-^^^^mizzcir'^j "'''  ^ ''  «■«  -- 

a  bum,  he  stared  atTfrl  th,  h  n"^''^'  '"  "  ^"^"^ 
f «  sunken  on  a  colSt^'  "^'  "^  ^'  «^««'  i'» 
«hnmken  neek.  *!«*  ^as  too  large  for  his 

The  oar  was  larrivl  K^ 
-tions  of  the  trS-dt4*  «>»-P  aa  the  two 
-f-  brought  together  JtuZTV''^'''''- 
Jhe  covered  platform  echoed  ^r  *''*  J°°™ey. 

from  the  negro  porterr  st    ,  T^  °*  "  ^"  'b°ad  I  " 
^^^^^-.bt.     irmal^t:^;\-edfrom 


'J 


248 


THE  REPORTER 


f'  i 


"Go  on,"  Sims  said  weakly.     «  There  '«      n,      > 
nothinir  in  thB  Btr.™       *  -meres  —  there's 

wantr-  "'"'7--^'"  «  newspaper.     What  do  you 

Personallv  T^'.  '!  ^  *°  •^'"e  back  with  something, 
personally,  I  don't  care  a  cuss  about  the  thinit » 

Suns  watched  him  in  silence  a  moment.     Th««  ^ 
asked  in  another  voice-    « WJiT         °°'®r     ^hen  he 

He  sank  back  against  the  cushions.     «  What  do  ,„ . 
want  to  know  ? "  »•        w  nat  do  yoii 

"  Who  was  the  woman  ? " 

"ciyo;"?ea:ht  :;roS'"^" '"  "'•""  ■*"- 

Yes  —  but  Ae  won't." 
"  He  don't  care." 

■They  generally   do  — that   sort"    PniK, 
mented      "  «»,->  —       i       .  '      <-^olbum   com- 

ented.        She  was  about  half  his  size,  I  suppose." 
„  f «  ^as.n't  any  more  than  a  kid."         ^^ 

wasn'Utt""'-    ^'^  "'^  ^'^  ^^'^-  "^^  on  her. 


THE  BEPORTER 


249 
liked  it.     S?eStst^/       t"*"''*''°«"-     S'"' 

tn-flThoraTk^^  r-'- »>-h,  H.fr.a„  on 
<lefense.  «  T^S^  i  .? Tj  *'"'* -"i-  his  whole 
She  never  looked  to  me  for  JS:-  ^  ""^  ^"^  ^"^  *>««■• 
a  dog  would  if  the  m^n  ^  ^^'^~  "^^  '°°«  *«" 

•t  fiL  I  sid  to  lit  :r'  "*  ''■"'"'  '*•  "^^ 

^t  she-she  lookTlLr  r-     T'  "'  '"^  '»'«i°«'«- 

-and  I  could ntsldt    i-"'"  "  '''^  "  '""'^^ 
Colbnrn  put  in  •    "  V^,,  -.  *  i. 
Si»snod5ed,;wallo2:;^;j:'*o--wa,r' 

And  he  caught  you  ? " 

aow  did  he  know  ? " 
Sims  shook  his  head.    "7  ^»„     jr      , 
must  Ve  been  watching  us.     W„  1      u""""^  '"'*•    ^^ 
to  shoot  something  S  dLoT   *  °"f  *  ''^  '^  «°-  »« 

pony  and  struck  off  on  the  tTan  to  th      T  "f''''  *« 
f  ninety-mile  ride  -  if  Z  TIXh        "h  '     ''  ^ 

-i-^^^r^?he^rh-t*^^-^--^^^^ 

--er,  and  then  I^efSiVShe-o-^^.^ 


S60 


THE  REPORTER 


f  Sr^."**  t'  T  ^""^  ^"^  "">  "  kn«*e<i  "ne  ^or 
•minute.  I  ..w  h,m  oomiins  «t  me.  but  I  did  n't  have 
'^  enough  to  pull  my  guB-tiU  I  «,w  Tan  jump 
up  and  run  toward  him.  creaming  at  him-and  he 

low.    Broke  bsankla...  That  waaaU  there  wa.  to 
"  You  got  away  ? " 

wudead.  She  never  moved.  I  could  have  killed  him 
rf  I  d  wanted  to-from  behind  a  tree.  I  could  see 
bn.  watching  for  me.    He  could  n't  get  up." 

Colbum  stared  at  him.    "Well,  good -I    What', 
he  kicking  about?"  *vnat  a 

posite  him.  «I  got  lung  trouble."  he  said.  "He 
knows  I  can't  go  East.    And  he  hunt,  around  till  he 

W  w/';**''""^^'*°«'-  He '.about  crazy  wiS 
hate.     When  he  can't  do  anything  elw  he  .et.T J™ 

-but^rr^''^''"^-  ^^-iS^dtrz; 

—  but  keep  away  from  him."  * 

"The  dirty  barber,"  Colburn  muttered. 

™«  t!^       T^  ^  ^''^'^  °"*  «  ^'""mt  and  have 
me  arreted  and  skip  out  before  the  trial    but  he 

?  Jl*  ^"^  "^'^  "P-  '^^'^  !■«  "^ed  to  trail  me  up 
-d  ^  to  ««tre  me  with  a  gun.  but  he  didn'tZt- 
and  I  got  on  to  it.  Now  he  generaUy  get.  some  news- 
paper reporter  after  me."  ^  ^^ 

"u  S^""  *^.'  ~"  ^"^  **^  ^""^  o"*  ^here  you  go  ?  » 
He  used  to  pay  detectives,  but  now  he  does  it  him- 


THE  REPORTER 


261 

wlf.    It  give,  him  something  to  do.  I  meu.    TI- 1 

I  can't  go  far.     1 1,,„„  ♦„   .      .    ,  '    ^^    ■"*  "<>*» 

I  cn't  go  off  and  a;  Z;^?^  'T'm   "  'f  "  '  •""' 
from  a  doctor."  ''^  "^  "'*'^  *»  get  far 

There  wag  a  long  gilenp«     Ti, 
'ailg  to  a  rhythmTf  "7/    I.  7^,  "  "^''*''  »'°»«  «te 
clack."    SuddenTy  Colh  ^f '^*  "  '^'^  "  "•""W 

CWefofPoltfsSorf  ;  ri-khere.  Th'e 
come  back  to  d1  l  i  -„  'T'  "'  ™''«^  «  ^o"  '« 
-  and  doeg  n't  Jher    "  ^J^**  ^°"'  ^'°*^«'  ««««  «>"' 

"  WeU.li„  you  do  ft  ? "      ""'*■     ^''^«'"  l-^  -<>• 

tl.e^barron?efi:;^r-'?^-'^'-' '"••"^^ 

"iellasitig."  HeloZ?  ^!*  ^"»  "lo'^a  He's 
■  he  'd  be  doing  this  if  I?  ^  "T^'  "  ^°"  '^""'t  t^ink 
^0  you  f  He  taows  hoH  !  '""^T'  ^'  *«  ^^^^^> 
Je  's  got  nothing'^SstT.'^  ^f/ ^^^-    He  knows' 

iun  an^hing.  He  murde;ed  W  Td  hT^  ^^  ^" 
away  from  it     That '«  ^i,  !"     ,  ^^  """  *  ««* 

We  him  alone.    hA!  ""'^*^'  ^''^  ^'^• 

him."  ^     °'»««««'«  all  that 'scorning  to 

"  How  about  youf  " 

"I  can  stand  it     Never  mind  me." 

H«  tone  waa  final.     Colbum  retun.ed  to  Pishe.s 


i-L 


9SS 


THE  REPORTER 


quMtioni.    "  How  much  did  you  get  out  of  the  '  clean- 
up'!" 

"About  two  thouiand,"  Sims  answered  irritably, 
"  Is  there  anything  else  you  want  to  know  ? " 

There  was  not  He  had  the  answers  to  his  four 
queries.     «  I  guess  not,"  he  said.     "  No." 

"  Will  you  go  away,  then,  and  leave  me  alone  I " 

Colbum  rose,  feeling  in  his  pocket  for  his  package  of 
granulated  tobacco.  "Have  a  smoke?"  he  asked. 
Sims  did  not  even  look  up.  Colbum  nodded,  to  himself, 
and  went  away  to  the  smoking  compartment. 

The  man's  story  had  no  news  value;  and  no  other 
value  interested  Colbum.  He  consulted  his  watch; 
it  wa«  7.67.  He  consulted  the  railroad  time-table ;  the 
first  stop  was  Littleton,  at  8.0&.  He  found  that  a  train 
returning  to  Denver  would  pass  through  Littleton  at 
9.22;  and  it  would  get  him  back  to  Denver  at  9.46. 
Good.     If  there  was  a  night-game  at  the  club  — 

He  settled  himself  in  his  seat,  with  the  newspaper 
man's  ability  to  dismiss  the  troubles  of  the  outside  world 
from  his  mind  and  wait  as  patiently  as  an  old  dog  for 
the  next  whistle  of  events.  He  would  return  from 
wiring  the  story  of  a  hanging,  with  just  such  placidity. 
His  sympathies  had  been  only  momentarily  stirred. 
And  he  had  no  literary  interest  in  the  psychology  of  the 
stoiy  and  no  feeling  for  its  merely  human  appeal 

When  the  train  stopped  at  Littleton,  he  got  out,  and 
stood  facing  the  little  brick  station  while  he  reflected 
that  from  8.09  to  9.22  would  be  a  wait  of  one  hour 
and  thirteen  minutes.     He  decided  to  go  back  by  trolley. 


I!  I 


THE  REPORTER 


268 
Then  he  walked  up  the  pl.tfonn  to  look  in  .t  Sim.. 

tied  fl'  ""  ^  wl*""*^^  ""^'  ""»  Co''*- 
carried  by.         "  "*"'  P*^"**"  "  ^  ^<»«» 

«h.ng  w..,    ,w  .,..  !,i,  „.^.     j.„,  ,^^ 

htit  ■'''-■'-  ^•-'■-—^«r  car.  he  co^ld^jf 

Fisherl    He  .av.t  have  followed  them, 
mieded  m  the  darkness.     One  of  them  winked  like  .n 

A:d  Colhu^'Tf  ^'^  '"'  "»  '"'*-»*  "^S  U  ouT 
And  Colbum  had  a  vague  feeling  that  it  expressed  a 
humorous  contempt  of  hin.  for  standing  onZlt- 

he  rib  H^V""'?'^;'^  '«""  ^-  ^—  down 
me  rails.  Had  he  missed  a  story,  after  all?  Tr„r  . 
moment  he  wished  that  he  had  lerSimMai ;  and  ^J 
h«  professional  instinct  for  news  assured  h  r'hit  J 
story  eleven  years  old  was  not  worth  -  '"»'"*» 

hirn'rUre^lLr^'    -i^Her  had  promised 
baZ?"  *''  ^"^  ^"'^^ '  "  ""'  "'"''*'«''•    "  The  dirty 

ciear.     «  was  only  money  he  had  failed  to  get. 


I.- :  i 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


I  i 


;f:| 

;  ■  m 


THE  MOTHEK-IN-LA',^ 

of  hu«or  tha   l,d  beT  '"'r-^.J""^'  -t^  a  sense 
"He  was  a  ^tf^'j^^U^ltZ'  ]^''''- 

^ht.ris.t::;-j-4  «>^on  in  a 

«  «iutr,-  bird  to  look  after  ^  \  ^r^^"  ^^^ 
**^ '«  that  danced  indrptdi^.T^^^d  vt/  ^''' 
*^,  k^  'd  never  'a'  knowed  wWn  *    «  ^       .    "^  *  ^' 

^  -1- 1  laid  it  :rfeTtL  i'  t'r*  ^  ••» 

on  two  t.«8!  If  T  .J  ?J7P««'-  gom'  hoppin'  along 
tin.  co«i„'  a  Nock  away  I  LT'  '  "'"''  ''''  ''^"' 
that  in  a  trolle^.ar  tj'l  don't  1"":  ''^  '"'  "'''' 
it."  ^  ''°°  *  «»^  the  mother  of 

TBese  complaints,  of  con^.,  .ere  intended  «ore  than 


2S8 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


uL'C^"!^-    ^t-  "^""^^'^  '^"^^hter  and  she  had 

rA  .  ^^^  ^  T"«^  *^«^'^^''  "^  °>°'1'«'  being  con- 

and  the  girl  willing  to  work  all  day  in  the  milliner^ 

departmait  of  Altgelt's  Si.th  Aven„e^to«.     m^Z 

of  Altgelts  grocery  department,  Mrs.  Joliffe  saw  them 

undertook  to  have  their  new  home  ready  for  them  be- 
fore they  returned     «  If  y,h  c-u'd  eat  hats,"   hl'a^J 

ookin   after  yer  meals  a  while,  till  Hetty  learns  how 

sLtd  it  ".^"^^  ^^«'y*^^'««t"Pf-y«h  betimes." 
She  had  It  set  up  now,  and  she  was  expecting  their 

re^rn  at  any  moment     They  had  found  a"^'  JlT. 

S^,         .T  "*  ^^  ^""^^  «°<1  »  kitchen  in  the 

apartment.  There  was  a  bedroom  for  Mrs.  Joliffe. 
opening  off  the  dining-room  and  separated  f rom  S 
young  couple's  quarters  by  the  whole  length  of  ^  fl^T 

trouble  tnT.  "!{  *^'  *""  ^^"^'f'  "-*  ''O  -ore 
SSv  .,  .  *^u°  ■"  °^'  ^°^  ^»  t''"'  back  yard." 

Ba  ley  had  giv«n  her  money  to  spend  on  fumi^l 
She  had  more  of  her  own ;  she  had  a  small  estate,  which 
her  husband  had  left  her;  and  she  did  not  spIiI  her 
own  m  her  desire  t«  give  her  daughter  "a  start  tW 
anny  gurl  c'u'd  be  proud  o'."  ^* 

She  covered  the  floors  with  carpets  and  then  covered 
the  carpets  with  druggets,  with  rag  rug«,  wird^r 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


259 

tains  of  muBlu,  staZS  '""^'-'"'nds,  double  sash-cu,. 

oveivourtains  of  some  sort    *     ,?         ^'^  *^'''   «nd 

'oven  tinsel  thr^riTtn     ^'"°"  ^"^  "'^^  «^  ^■ 

5«1  in  gold  embroider  LTZ  7'"^  ""^  ««  ''-"- 

bishop  sayin'maas"    Zj^^^'J'"*  "«  ""  arch- 

«be  had  acqLri^'elbatSortrJ-'"™''"^'  -''^«'' 
regilded  her  old  picWfrfl       *f'^'^"'g-«"»'«P«-     She 

Fourteenth  St,^tSeT'<S^hT''/  ''"''''  ''-«''' 
where  her  holiday  cZTdJ^t^"'  ^^  J>"°g  every- 
but  years  out  of  date"'  "^^'"^  '"^'^  '^"•'boned, 

pans  as  are  no  longer  m!^„-?u  ^  *''  ^^'^'^ms,  such 

and  ligh^housekeX   tb«"  fT  ^"^^  ^^  «'*«*<'-' 

looked  about  her.     "  fw  ,f  f  ^"' «™«  "^in^bo  and 

"i'  of  an  artist  openinAT'    S- '•'"'''  '"'""  ^^'  defiant 

It  was  nine  o^S  '  jf^'*'""'  "1«*  'en»  come." 

^ad  b.n  on  the  trS  1 1^  Ind  H^iT  7?-.  ^"^^ 
She  was  a  small  blonde  wlt^      ,  ^  ^°^^^  *''ed. 

-itb  one  of  those  ZT'i^Pf'^Y-"-  ^^^«  -'^ 
of  unlimited  silence.  "S  7^1  .'^'  "'  '="?""« 
a  Blow  correctnesrof  p^nun    f "'  u^'^  ''^'^^'''  ^''^ 

ambition  in  her,"  what  C?°°  *^"*  ™'"-'^«d  an 
'     ^^at  veyoMbeenupto?" 


260 


THE  MOTHER-IK-LAW 


Mrs.  Joliffe  laughed.  "  All  sorts  o'  divilmint,"  she 
said,  kjasing  Bailey.  "  I  been  settlin'  things  in  a  kind 
o'  way  tiU  you  'd  be  able  to  put  'em  to  rights."  She 
stood  aside  from  the  doorway.  "Here's  the  par- 
lor." 

Hetty  looked  it  over.  She  had  it  in  her  mind  that 
tb  waUs  were  like  a  stationer's  window  in  ChrUtmas 
week,  and  the  whole  room  was  as  old-fashioned  as  her 
mother;  but  she  said  nothing.  She  accepted  the  ar- 
rangement as  provisional:  she  could  change  it  to  the 
latest  styles  of  Altgelt's  furniture  displays,  in  due 
course. 

Bailey  had  been  a  country  boy  who  had  come  to  the 
city  t»  be  a  millionaire,  and  he  had  been  living  in  shabby 
hall-bedrooms.    If  he  did  not  seem  sufficiently  enthusi- 
astic about  the  parlor,  it  was  because  he  did  not  wish 
them  to  think  he  was  not  accustomed  to  such  magnifi- 
cence.   Added  to  this  country  reticence,  he  had  the  art 
of  accepting  a  bargain  with  a  show  of  reluctance.     He 
said :    "  It  '11  do  us  all  right,  won't  it,  Hetty  ? " 
She  pretended  that  she  had  not  heard. 
But  Mrs.  Joliffe  was  not  discouraged.     She  intro- 
duced BaOey  to  a  Uttle  tobacco-table  set  with  a  tobacco- 
jar,  a  corncob  pipe,  and  a  tobaoco-cutter  on  a  mahogany 
board  — the  veiy  cutter  with  which  JoUffe  had  sliced 
his  plugs.    A  padded  armchair  stood  beside  the  table. 
A  pair  of  new  "morocco"  slippers  waited  under  the 
chair,  and  a  tin  spittoon  beside  it.     "  That 's  the  place 
fer  you,"  she  said,  "  when  yuh  come  home  with  yer 
boots  tired  o'  yer  feet." 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 
'  But,  Mother,"  Hetty  objected,  «  he  wc 


261 


theparlorl"       '    —"•' ""'•'°"'«"'  "« ''on't  smoke  in 

"Won't  he  then?"  she  said.     "He'll  Iw.  .  *    i  •* 
he  don't     TT^'ii         1        ,  iie  u  be  a  fool  if 

h^ul"  ah  Ji  '^^'^  "^"^  ^'  ^*«  >'»  hi"  own 
"Zre  "  ie'^l""'  «  shann«.mi„or  in  three  leaves. 
h»,7^':     \^^     ^^  "^  «*  «"  bit  the  top  o'  vep 

weL::tol;:.tt.^-^--^-*---^ 
^%  i^e^  M  ::s^'^^ra't'"'^  'Tr  '^^■ 

flat^red.    "All  thTlfoJtrhL^n^'    ''  "''^'^' 
Mrs.  Johffe  made  a  gesture  that  said  «  Wait !     T  '11 

She  had  prepared  cold  ham  aad  hot  coffee  Di«  »n^ 
pckles  and  chocolate  caie,  bananas  and  7Z  Z£ 

tHng^h  can't  r«.V'  sirrid,  "ai^e^r  "^^■ 

baied  the  cake,  made  the  salad  and  the  chiliTauce^S 
^^^  the  coffee ,  and  the,  had  the  ^.J^JTZT^ 

wSThS?."/^"*"  *""'  """^  ^^  "^P  overflowing 
Wlen  he  had  had  enough,  she  coaxed  and  wheedled  2 


«e»  THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 

_.  star  n   up  store  some  day  fer  yenilf  ? »  she  a«keH 

for  i«.  J         ,  7  "  **"*  y"*!  lees  than  it  did 

for  board,  er  I'm,  n  Dutchman.    Hettv'Il  J«,f        . 

to  nothin'  fer  clothes      <?J,T         u       "^  "■*  "*** 

cioines.     bhe  sews  her  own.    An»  T'i7 

i^"i .     we  II  be  miUionaires  this  day  next  week  " 
He  went  to  bed,  gorg^  and  optimisdc,  Sd^;,^, 
of  half  the  worries  of  a  newly  married  man.     wl7^ 

of  work  and  had  just  found  '  a  Job  "     st  t  TT* 


THE  MOTHER-IJr-LAW 


263 

'^^'^^^it'oT  t:  ''':^  •-^'^  -'- 

bustle  of  Altoelt'sS?.;  ,,®''^'»'««^  'he  noise  and 
the  work  to  wtch  'ah^hal  bl"  '  ''"'*"  '''"^'''  -'^ 

have  taken  someZttlirT'^"^-     ^^'^^i^^ 
•"Other's  incessant  aSy  had      //"''"^"P'^  '^  ^e' 
feft  her  idle.     She Tnlt  J  °.°*  ^"'"'^  ''^'  "''de  and 
stitches  in  a  torn  floury        J  t""^'  P"'  "^  ^- 
hat,  and  washed  herTelL  ^T    *'!  *''"^''«f  »'  "^ 
•chiefly  she  wandered  W  ir/"  ^"^  ^"'^'«^*'  »"'* 
of  the  parlor  window H!!^.*Vr'"  ''  ^"^  <>»' 
like  a  girl  who  has  letlZTT     l^^^'  ^'"P'J'-handed, 
to  find  nothing  to  do      ^"^'''^■''''^°o^  and  come  home 

h.X'errthrei-jv^^'  ^^^--^  ^«-«^ 

"  likely  to  sprout  a  mtuVdet  J  °"  "  ''*'"'^  ""'"d  it 
"ot  "  slnshin'  abont/^  i  sSln  ,:"?•  ^'^"  «^«  -"» 
«he  was  humming  "oS-co^S"  /  '  '"^  *'^  ^•'«''«''' 
happily  in  a  favorite  cha^Sh  sh"eTr'  '""^'"^ 
<lmmg^room  window.  It  wo,l T  '^*.  ^*"^  ?"*  V  the 
«hology  to  ^Ui,,  why  sZ  '  "'"^  '*"''^  '°  P«7- 

butsheneyeT^elt^ttLl  erid^V^  ^'^  '"''^°'' 
was  only  to  stand  a  momi  tni;-  '''^  ^^* '»'  't 


■  C; 


?'l 


2«*  THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 

Ifi'*^    ;;\'«'likoourol'ctTom,»d.eh.d«- 
to^rLT     ^"""'''^"    ^dHettyhadthepTlor 

She  was  ill-tempored  that  evening,  and  ate  her  dinner 
m  silence  resenting  the  fact  that  Bailey  had  the  head 
of  the  table,  where  he  carved  -  and  her  mother  the  foot 

at  tt!fr  fr:'^:^"  tea-wWle  riio  herself  sat 
at  the  side  and  had  no  hand  in  anything.  She  vented 
her  resentoent  after  dinner  by  objecting  again  to  Bai- 

vCJ      K.      •^"';°«^'-°°'°'  ^^^^  Mrs.  Joliffe  and  he 

sitong  in  the  dming^room  beside  a  table  set  with  dishes. 
She  stayed  m  the  parlor-where  she  could  hear  her 

Ba1ir,'"\  '^.'"^°'°"''^  "^«'  *»•«  Pegging  and 
Ba  ley  laughing  with  the  heartiness  of  a  Se7  Fi- 
nally she  went  to  bed  in  a  sulk. 

Bailey,  after  a  midnight  supper,  came  to  his  sleeo 
chucklmg.     She  said  nothing  to  him        "  ~  ""  "'"^ 

tl,«!"i-""*  '°°™'°'^'  '*  ^^'^'^^.  «he  demanded  that 
they  hire  a  servant  so  that  her  mother  might  not  hare 
to  spend  an  her  days  in  the  kitehen.  "  Good  he"  „s  " 
Mrs.  Joliffe  oned.     "What  w'u'd  yuh  be  doin'  with 

irrxzi ' 'f  ^' ""'  "'^ ''''-'  ^^^^'  ^-  -- 

^nto  ev-rybody's  bus'ness,  an'  talkin'  about  us  to  the 
neighbors,  an'  stealin'  ev'rythin'  she  c'u'd  lay  hands  to 
an' pois'nin'  us  with  bad  food  1    A  servan'  ^rl "        ' 

,«^"'^  ""^  '^  ^°'""«'  ''"t  equally  detennined.     A 
.ervant  was  an  expensive  luxury,  which  he  had  no  in- 


THE  MOTHER-Iir-UW 


".^l"»t'"  the  mother  cried.     «P 
t«jnn'  ;,er  clothes  to  pieces"   I M      '^  """"^  °"«  ^^ 
J"»Pn'  ae  on  grub  "^Tl  did  tr^'""''  ^"'^  *  «'°k 
»f«»  pmtin'  into  it     WhatVl       .""^  ^'"*'  ^''^  '^ 
clothes  if  ^„h  .^  ne  J  to  L      1^^  °  ^"^i"'  P^ty 

««'  -to  yuK  at  air^ri'r'  ^"''''  "^^^  tal]..     What 's 
t^-  -s'la^rad^;- -I-  ^»  ^er  own  honse- 
ward  to  having  a  ,iS   Tolt  wf':  \"'  "^'^^  '''- 
m.ght  be  happ^  and  alone  tollrt.^'t  """^  ^»''«^ 
if:  mother,  if  she  joined  tS  1  .  ft^"''  '^^'^^ 
V'S'tor  and  grow  old  in  idl«n     '    r  "''"  ^^'  Pla^e  as  a 
Joliffe  had  furnished  Jh'iTtTo-  he  "'"'  °'  *^''^'  M"^ 
---^  ••*  to  her  own  satisfll' "sT  JT  '^'  ^"^ 
,t     "T  "^^'"y  to  Bailey  than  h-  '^  "^"^^  ^^'- 

Ae  ^ri's  attempts  to  snpS t  .".  ^^^  ^fe-  And 
««t8Wished  her  more  secnrd!  L  '  I  ."  '''"^'  °'''^ 
maintained  her  detemi^^Z'^^f^  ^'"'^'°'  ^^  ^etty 

"  Hetty  claimed  the  righl  to  do  the 


Miaoconr  ksoiution  test  cha>t 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


_^  APPLIED  IIVHGE    In. 

^^r*^  '61 J   Eail  Main   Street 

^^  (^'6)  *e2  -  0300  -  Phone 

=SS  (7'6)   288- 5989 -Fo« 


h 


266 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


at  least,  she  was  invited  to  "go  ahead  an'  do  it,  then." 
But  when  Bailey  opened  a  bad  egg  for  breakfast  and 
sat  down  for  dinner  to  a  rolled  roast  so  tough  that  no 
one  could  eat  it,  there  was  a  scene  at  the  table,  and 
Hetty  declared,  in  a  passion,  that  she  would  never  buy 
another  thing  for  the  house.  She  went  to  bed  aknost 
weeping  with  anger. 

Bailey  played  his  cribbage  and  smoked  his  pipe. 
"Leave  her  be,"  Mrs.  Joliffe  counseled  him  — and 
Hetty  overheard  her  through  the  open  door— "she'll 
come  out  of  her  tantrums.    I  know  her.    Twofer'his 
heels.'    Go  on  now." 

He  tried  letting  her  be  and  found  it  a  poor  plan. 
She  let  him  be.     She  withdrew  herself  ostentatiously 
from  the  household  life,  was  silent  at  the  table,  and 
turned  her  back  on  him  when  they  were  alone.     She  sat 
all  day  by  herself,  amid  the  furnishings  of  a  room  that 
she  hated,  brooding  upon  the  incidents  of  a  life  that  she 
despised.     Bailey's  manner  during  his  courtship  had 
flattered  her  by  a  tacit  acknowledgment  that  she  was 
something  finer  and  better  than  he.     (He  had  fallen  in 
love  with  her  «  citified  "  sophistication.)     She  had  not 
allowed  him  to  see  much  of  her  mother,  of  whose  sim- 
phcity  and  commonness  she  had  been  ashamed.     She 
had  never  let  him  know  that  her  father  had  been  a 
butcher;  she  had  intended  to  leave  all  that  sort  of  thing 
tehmd  her  when  she  married.    She  had  known  that 
Bailey  was  a  trusted  man  at  Altgelt's,  with  a  future  be- 
fore him,  and  she  had  counted  on  rising  with  him  out 
of  reach  of  her  past    She  had  vaguely  intended  to  sub- 


THE  MOTHER-W-LAW  267 

due  h„ther  and  put  her  into  the  background  of  her 

..rfof ',  *"  ^''Y'  '"'"'''  ■*  ^"^  '^'  °>othor  who  had 
husban1-"^1*"-  .  I'l "'  '"'  '"'  ^-'^y  «»«>"'  ''- 

mierf  Had°  '^T^  '~'^-'^^^  tene.ent-h^ots 

"mat's  the  matter  with  you,  anyway?"  Bailey 
asked  her  .mpatiently;  and  she  turned  ofhim  in  fb  aT 

hf  c' •  r- "i  ^^'^'.^  ^•°"  '^''  "^  -  "^^  *^<' 

"  T  r ..  ,,  .'^^  "^  *  "'""'''^  ^  ^^^'"'t  girl." 

You  seem  to  've  married  a  mother-in-law  »  she  said 
Go  and  su  in  the  kitchen  with  her.     It  'a  the  par   of 
the  house  you  're  most  int'rested  in."  ^ 

"  That 's  a  nice  sort  of  talk  1  " 

she^was^r^  ^T  \°''  ""''  ^"^"y-  She  «aw  that 
she  was  lowering  herself  still  further  in  his  regard  •  and 
thereafter  she  said  nothing.  She  became  ^Cn 
tanned,  haughty,  silent,  and  altogether  impossibS  To 
endearments  could  draw  an  explanation  from  hlr  and 
no  m>pat,ence  provoke  her  to  a  retort.  She  iTv'ed  a 
-lent  protest  against  the  whole  situation,  and  BaL 
2;%  found  himself  reduced  to  a  stat;  of  wS 

He  could  no  longer  enjoy  his  evening  game  of  cril^ 

did  no   wish  to  hurt  Mrs.  Joliffe's  feelings.     He  could 
not  enjoy  his  meals,  but  he  had  to  pretfnd,  for  Mr^     ■ 


268 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


Joliffe's  sake,  that  he  did  enjoy  them.  She  exerted 
herself  to  please  him,  performed  miracles  in  cookery, 
and  tried  to  keep  the  table  lively  with  an  indomitable 
good  nature.  But  she  did  not  understand  what  was 
wrong.  She  thought  there  had  been  some  belated 
lover's  quarrel  between  the  two,  and  she  considered  it 
the  part  of  wisdom  to  ask  no  questions.  She  was  cheer- 
fully happy  herself,  worked  singing,  read  the  news- 
papers in  her  rocking-chair,  and  kct  to  her  own  end 
of  the  flat  "  The  gurl  's  a  fool,"  sh  .id  herself,  "  but 
I  was  the  same  mesilf  at  her  age.  .  .  .  Poor  Jollie! 
Heaven  give 'm  rest!  "  She  laughed  to  herself.  "Us 
women  —  we  're  danged  hard  to  live  with !  " 

She  played  her  part  until  it  was  not  humanly  possi- 
ble to  play  it  longer.  Then  she  scolded  her  daughter 
and  got  nothing  but  a  malevolent  look.  She  advised 
Bailey  to  take  his  wife  to  the  theater  at  night,  and  he 
did  so,  though  he  fell  asleep  in  his  seat.  Then  he  took 
her  to  Coney  Island  on  a  Saturriay  afternoon,  and  came 
back  desperately  discouraged  —  for  the  girl  had  told 
him  eahnly  that  she  would  not  live  in  the  flat  more  than 
a  month  longer ;  that  as  soon  as  the  cool  weather  came, 
she  would  return  to  work  in  some  shop. 

He  sat  with  his  cards  in  his  hands,  too  worried  to  play 
his  game.  He  gazed  at  nothing,  with  an  empty  pipe 
in  his  moutL 

"  She  wants  a  couple  o'  babies,"  Mrs.  Joliffe  declared. 
"When  she  has  some  squallin'  young  appitites  to  be 
8tufl5n'  she  '11  have  no  time  to  be  thinkin'  of  hersilf." 

He  ?hook  his  head. 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW  269 

"Aw,  yuh  're  as  bad  as  them  ol'  maid  ministers,"  she 
oned,     that  're  alius  writin'  to  the  paypers  about  the 
divoree  problum.     If  you   men   had   more   children, 
yuh  d  be  havm'  less  trouble  with  yer  wives." 
"  She  does  n't  like  the  flat." 
"  The  flat !    What  'a  wrong  with  it,  man  ?  " 
He  looked  at  her  as  if  he  were  going  to  tell  her, 
flushed  self-consciously,  and  went  on  with  his  game 

That  look  gave  her  ber  first  suspicion  of  the  truth. 
She  lay  awake  a  long  time  in  the  night,  "  puttin'  two  an' 
two  togither,"  as  she  would  have  said.  When  she  saw 
her  daughter  in  the  morning,  she  understood. 

T  .  uj"  f.^  '"^  *°  ''''^^^'  "  I  "»'t  g°i"^'  to  butt  in. 
I.et  her  do  things  her  own  way  if  she  wants  to.  She  'U 
Jeam  as  well  by  tryin'  as  by  bein'  told !  " 


She  understood  why  Bailey  did  not  play  cribbage 
with  her  that  night -though  he  pretended  that  it  was 
because  he  had  a  headache.  He  spent  the  evening  in 
the  other  end  of  the  flat,  with  the  doors  closed  against 
her  so  that  she  might  not  hear  what  Hetty  was  saying. 
Ihe  old  woman  darned  his  socks  and  assured  herself 
that  It  was  natural  in  the  girl  to  want  him  to  herself. 
She  overlooked  his  guiltily  apologetic  manner  toward 
her  in  the  morning,  and  said  nothing  to  Hetty  when 
they  were  left  alone  together. 

The  girl  swept  the  parlor  herself  that  day,  rearranged 
ihe  furniture,  and  took  dovvTi  all  the  calendar -as 
Jttrs.  Johffe  discovered  in  the  evening,  when  Bailey 


I'  I 


270 


THE  MOTHER-IX-LAW 


and  his  wife  had  gone  off  to  a  roof -garden.  She  found 
her  cherished  decorations  thrown  together  in  a  closet, 
and  she  put  them  away  in  her  tnink,  her  lips  twitching 
with  a  pained  indignation.  The  insult  was  two-edged, 
though  it  hurt  her  most  by  impugning  her  taste  as  a 
housekeeper.  "Dang  the  girl,"  she  said.  "A  few 
years  ago  she'd  not  V  behaved  so  — er  if  she  did, 
she  'd  'a'  got  well  spanked  for  it !  " 

She  was  up  early  and  had  breakfast  ready  for  Bailey 
in  the  morning,  with  a  cheerful  countenance  that 
changed,  for  a  moment  only,  when  she  understood  from 
his  long  and  shamefaced  explanation  that  he  was  going 
to  take  Hetty  out  to  dinner  in  a  restaurant  and  would 
not  be  home  to  the  meal  Here  was  an  insinuation  that 
her  cooking  was  not  all  that  it  might  be!  He  invited 
her  to  come  with  them,  but  she  knew  hotter  than  to  ac- 
cept. "Xever  mind  me,"  she  said.  "I'm  too  old 
to  be  gaddin'  about." 

Hetty's  manner  during  the  day  seemed  to  have  a 
suggestion  of  silent  triumph  in  it,  but  nothing  was  said. 
The  mother  could  not  speak  of  what  was  in  her  thought, 
and  the  daughter  would  not.  Mrs.  Joliffe  could  only 
wait  and  watch,  hoping  that  what  seemed  to  her  an  un- 
reasonable anger  in  the  girl  would  abate  for  want  of 
provocation.  But  Hetty  was  determined  to  have  her 
mother  understand  that  she  could  not  be  ignored  and 
pi-t  aside  in  her  own  house;  and  as  her  mother  yielded, 
bewildered  and  hurt,  Hetty  pressed  on  to  the  reali- 
zation of  the  plans  that  she  had  made  before  her  mar- 
riage. 


THE  MOTHEB-IN-LAW  271 

life\h„TT  r  f  '^°'"  fagi-comedies  of  household 
hfe  that  develop  day  by  day,  week  after  week,  b  the 

rfrf ""^  "1'°'""'''=  '°"*'»^-  ^"'^y  d'd  i.is  bT. 

tentatttJ  ^''•/."'•^^  '"  P'«y  <=ribbage  with  him,  once, 
tentatively;  but  he  was  evidently  relieved  when  she  did 
not  accept.     He  allowed  Hetty  i  send  her  oZ  cl  tL 

sXhlJTi.    ^    '"''  "°°*""*  ^^^'^  ^^'^  ""''^Pted  these 

tKoI  th     T""?  ^''''^'''^  *''«'"•     Se  'et  Hetty 
take  down  the  curtains  in  the  parlor  and  put  up  others 
more  to  her  taste.    He  gave  her  money  ^to  ZZZ 
new  fnmnure,  and  she  put  away  the  rugs.        "^ 
Mrs.   Johffe,  sitting  quiet  and  humiliated  in  thn 

din^room,    heard   the   girl,    now,    singii^a^st 

«t5^  f't  *^''  °^  ''°"'^'  S«"7  ^««  =0  longer  silent 
at  the  t.ble,  except  when  she  and  her  mother  we"  ate 

L  !«  r,/  "^  "",  '^""•^  ^^"^  ^°°'^«d  "5^«  ill  tumor 
m  the  old  woman.  "She'll  come  around,"  she  toS 
him  privately.     "She's  sulky  because  she  ca^'  hate 

book  and  die  was  experimenting  in  the  kitchen  with 

jargeiy  ot.     bhe  had  persuaded  him  that  tea  eave  him 
-digestion ;  she  did  not  drink  it  herself;  and  hefltW 
had  none  to  pour  but  her  own.     When  the  fumShLg 
of  the  dining-room  were  overhauled,  she  turned  Z 


273 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


table  around  and  placed  Bailey's  >hair  opposite  hen- 
by  which  niano-uver  Mrs.  JoliflFo  was  left  in  the  place  of 
the  outsider.  As  a  final  touch,  Hetty  helped  the  vege- 
tables; ryd  there  was  something  hard  to  define  in  the 
way  in  which  she  passed  her  mother's  plate.  It  was 
perhaps  unconscious  and  unintentional;  but  it  made 
Mrs.  Joliffe  feel  that  the  hand  of  a  slighting  charity 
was  extended  to  her  with  the  food. 

"  I  'm  not  wanted,"  she  told  herself.  "  I  'H  go  away 
I  11  go  away  an'  live  by  mesilf."  But  she  had  spent 
too  much  of  her  own  money  on  the  despised  furniture 
and  decorations  of  the  flat,  and  she  was  too  proud  to  ask 
tor  ,t  back.  The  prospect  of  a  lonely  and  useless  old 
age  frightened  her  even  more  than  poverty.  She 
wanted  work  to  do;  and  here  was  work,  if  Hetty  would 

child?  she  asked  herself.  «  What 've  I  done  <<,  her ? 
I  m  that  worried  I've  got  the  heartburn."  And  she 
rubbed  her  waist-line  pathetically  and  blinked  her  faded 
eyes. 

She  did  not  appreciate  this  desire  of  a  young  life  to 
mold  Its  own  circumstances,  direct  its  own  plans 
achieve  its  new  ambitions.  She  saw  herself  dirust 
aside  by  a  filial  jealousy  that  seemed  to  her  the  most 
horrible  ingratitude,  umiatural  and  heartbreaking;  and 
this  jealousy  having  begun  in  ill-temper,  continued  in 
that  aspect  because  the  girl  was  best  able  to  justify 
herself  in  her  own  eyes  by  preserving  her  resentment 
against  her  mother,  even  after  Mrs.  Joliffe  had  been 
reduced  to  the  meekness  of  despair. 


TUE  MOTHER-IN-LAW 


ties."  ^  "  ^  "'''«  to  gJve  little  par- 

Bailey  remained  gilenf    anrl  i.;.    m 

She  gi»«rf .,  i„  i  "  /If ""  f  1'°"'  '•:■ 

p»««it,  to  p„.h «,.  ,„„„„  j':^^"''  '"I'  •'")'  op- 
...,  w.  Mio,  0.,,..  .h„  ,T.,«,f.':-jr  ■  "i;; 

"  Tb«l '.  an  Mk  "  B....  P""'«l7    with    h„    ,i, 


274 


THE  MOTHER-IX-LAW 


Bailej  Mid  indignantly:     "  Well,  I  'm  tired  of  this 
vjde  bu.„e«s.     We  don't  need  a  ,iH  and  we  can- 
afford  ona     I*ave  the  poor  old  woman  alone.     The 

!::Th:;rT''^^''^''^p^--^'--^-ide.be. 

of  L™?"'"-  '^'  T^'  "■"P"'''-  "  "  yo"  'hink  more 
of  her  crazy  notions  than  you  do  of  my  health  ~" 

bought  some  food  in  a  delicatessen  shop  and  hid  it  in 
her  trunk  She  ate  nothing  for  dinner  oJ^^lZ 
tapoca  pudding   which  she  had  made  herself   and  i 

IZ  1  \fir^''  *'"'  •;  ''■^"'^-J  -'h  he'r.  She 
was  .11  in  the  morning,  refused  to  have  her  breakfast 
brought  to  her  in  bed,  and  sent  Bailey  to  his  work  to 
worr,  about  her  Her  mother  came  to  s«,  h  r Tmi ^ 
day  with  a  bowl  of  chicken  broth  and  some  buttered 
toast.  She  refused  it.  « If  I  want  anything  t^  ea7" 
she  said,  "  I  'II  cook  it  myself."  ^  ' 

ho^l  ^1'^^  T.'^'  ^°°'^  °"  '^^  -^^'^^  ""d  went  to 
her  room  to  pack  her  small  belongings.  "  I  can't  stav 
here,"  she  told  herself,  «  an'  I  dfn'f  know  wher  Tu 
go  to.  I  '11  have  to  get  work.  I  '11  have  to  get  work 
omewhere  but  '11  go  to  the  poorhouse  before  Al 
Stan  fer  this.     I  've  slaved  for  her  all  me  life,  an'  I  'd 

71  L""'  '"i*^  '"^  ''"^^^  °ff  »«  fingers. 

If  she  wanted  me.    But  she  don't.     I'll  go -an'  be 
danged  to  her!  "    She  wiped  her  cheeks  on  the  end  of 
her  apron      « God  help  Bailey.     I'm  glad  i^ him 
that 's  got  to  stay  an'  not  me." 
She  stripped  her  little  room,  packed  her  pictures  of 


f     I 


THE  MOTHER-m-LAW 


left  it  umillllTeotai.- -''"^r'l'r^'^'  ""f 
the  floor  to  please  nobody  "  °°*  "'«*  "'^ 

faction  of  fi,?injL.     i       •'^  '"'"^'"-■''''  '""^  '^o  satil 
came  home     ^  °«  T'""''^  "'•     "'^''"  bailey 

He4.  blanrarXie'^tir  ^--^-"^-^'^ 

4^ar"::!-\rortri--r 

'  She '11  let  me  do  nothin' ffir  Jio, 
I  oook.     She  wants  a  ^^    Sh7      .  .'  T  '"'  ""*'"' 
I'mgoin'."  ^       She  wants  to  be  rid  0' me. 

He  wandered  back  to  the  bedroom  again. 

sai?  ott;  r  T™7^  ^^«  ''f  o^s  voice  and  .he 

doubt,  x.;i^„,,,^:;--^^^^^^^^ 

^.".e'sa?^f^h^?Ceai?;r     "'^ 

■Ue  came  out  to  her,  pale     «  «!i,» 
he  said  huskily.  ^""^  ^■'"'*^  *°  «ee  you," 

"What  is  it?" 


276 


THE  MOTHEIMX-LAW 


"  She  '11  tell  you,  I 


He  looked  down  at  bia  feet 
guess." 

His  manner  alarmed  her.  She  hurried  to  the  bed- 
room and  found  Hetty  lying  among  the  pillows,  her 
eyee  dilated,  her  lips  trembling.  «  Mother,"  she  said, 
clutching  at  the  old  woman's  hard  hand,  "don't  kJ 

'"'.!^;n.°°'''' '*"*''*""'•     I ''»- I'm  frightened." 

\Vhat  is  it?"  the  mother  whispered.  "What  is 
It  t  And  even  as  she  asked  it,  she  knew.  .  .  "  Dear 
God,"  she  laughed,  while  the  girl  clung  to  her  "  I 
wanted  nothin'  but  to  stay  with  yuh.  Who  said  I  was 
gom  to  leave  yuhf  Don't  be  a  fool,  gurl.  What 're 
yuh  scared  o'  ?  D'  yuh  think  yuh  're  the  first  woman 
ever  had  a  baby?  Wait  now.  Yuh 're  hungry. 
Ihat  8  what  8  wrong  with  yuh.     Where  's  that  broth  ? " 

There!  she  said  to  Bailey.  "  What  'd  I  tell  yuh ! 
We  11  have  no  mtre  trouble  in  this  house.  Sit  down 
there  an  eat  yer  dinner  like  a  man  an'  a  father  I  'U 
beat  y  at  cribbage  when  I  get  her  off  to  sleep  " 

She  chuckled  to  herself,  good-naturedly,  over  the 
Tl:  .  l^"^  '*'"  ^  "  ^'J'  «'  ""arry  young.  I 
lived  to  be  a  mother-in-law  hersilf,  fer  her  sins.  A 

mothe.in.lawI    An'  they  make  jokes  about  us' in  "the 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


i  i 


1^  THE  MUSEE 


iTt™.    T     "'  *^'  ^"^^  °f  Mod-^e  Carloti'I 
gipsy  tent  and  grinned  in  at  Madame.     "Well"  L 

ilX;-'^^^'"^^"'^'^     Been.oldin.:;U^ 
amonff  soiW   k       »"'«'  aressed  in  a  scarlet  kimono. 

down  therrto"^  iS  to"  ll"  f""  ^'^  "^  ''  ^*  '"'^  ««d 

feeble  griAfeill^l^Tatr  ^d-  ^'^  '''' 
anything  but  a  carpenter's  vL  Id  T  ?''"""''«" 
pince-nez  had  beer^ot  wr^'^i^i".'  ^^^^  "^  ^''^ 

_^l.e  looked  up  at  Redney,  carefully,  mindful  of  the 


"  Yuh  '11  sneeze  some  day,"  he  said   "  «„'  ^f  ,i 

goggles  stuck  in  yer  throat''  '  ^'  ^^'^ 

279 


I     t 


liJII 


280 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


"  Why  ain't  you  sellin' 


She  took  them  off  to  ask: 
your  things  ? " 

"  Nothin'  doin'."  He  had  a  wooden  tray  of  chewing- 
gum  and  prize  packages  slung  before  him  on  straps  from 
h>s  shoulders.  "  Could  n't  sell  that  gang  silver  dollars 
at  three  fer  a  nickel.  They  ain't  got  the  pWce.  Bunch 
o  kikes  Say!  The  nex'  dame  yuh  get  in  here,  tell 
her  she  s  goin'  to  find  her  fortune  in  a  prize  package, 
will  yuh?     That 'd  help."  *-      °6  . 

She  shook  her  head.  "They  don't  come  the  way 
they  ust  to.  The  Professor  says  he  don't  think  we  're 
more  than  payin'  rent  since  Peb'u'ry." 

Eedney  made  a  sound  of  derision  in  his  nose.  "  The 
game 's  a  dpa^  one.  Ev'ry  one 's  wise  to  them  fakes." 
He  indicated  tdie  "exhibits  "  with  a  backward  jerk  of 
the  head. 

He  was  called  "  Eedney  »  as  a  dog  is  called  «  Spot " : 
his  real  name  was  as  unknown  as  his  history.  He  had 
arrived  at  the  Musee  with  the  sun-scalded  complexion 
of  an  amal«ur  tramp ;  and  after  "  boosting  "  for  a  time 
on  the  street,  he  had  obtained  the  privilege  of  selling 
candies  inside,  on  a  percentage  basis.  It  was  under- 
stood that  he  had  previously  been  traveling  with  a  circus 
as  a  butcher,"  selling  lemonade  and  "  red-hots  "  He 
had  a  lumpy  chin  and  jaw,  but  lips  that  were  nimble, 
tuu  of  unexpected  muscles,  suave  and  slangy  —  the  lips 
of  a  man  who  has  the  gift  of  the  gab. 

.V  "^°11,  F'"*"''  ^"°'"*'  ""'  "ictelodeons  've  got  us  on 
the  bhnk,"  he  said.  "We're  tryin'  to  pay  too  much 
rent  anyway." 


""^ir 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


281 

call  his  wares  on  t},«  fl   "^"""^  ^"^ney  had  wished  to 
licit"  except  sileni^'      ^  '"^"'^'^  *°  '«*  ^^'^  "«> 

s.?shThrh:ra£rfS:t"-^ 

we  'II  do."  °''  *  ™ow  whatever 

J'zr^i^r^.t":*  ^ "'°"« -'^  ^  -^ 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  siffhed      «  v„    i 
people-"  ^      •       ^°"  1^0^ -old  married 

He  cut  in:    «  When  were  yuh  married ? »    tt-   . 
was  dispassionate  and  inquiring  b"  11 
thing  under  it  that  startW  her  ™  '"''  '"""^ 

She  gave  him  a  quick  look. 
He  said :     "  TTh  ? "     Ti;„   r 

-id  ,uh  were  old  marri  J "2  T  .""""■ ,  "  ^"^ 
ried  young."  "»««  peopla    Yuh  must  V  mar^ 

^r^tSLt;^^'^:^:--™:;^^^^  , 

a  P-  together,  inside  of  themselves,!  thf  ttma';' 


V 


m 

nil 


HI 


282 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


deft  way  of  housewives.  "  We  've  been  married  a  long 
time." 

"  Yuh  Ve  said  it  twice,  so  it  must  be  true,"  lie  re- 
marked, with  his  usual  brazen  calm.  "  Been  a  gay 
life,  eh  ?     Enjoyed  ev'ry  minute  of  it  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  a  pathetic  doubtfulness  of 
expression,  bewildered  by  worry  and  not  sure  of  his 
sarcasm.     "  Gay  ? "  she  said  —  and  got  no  farther. 

There  was  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  had  nothing  to  do 
with  his  words  —  one  of  those  indescribable  signifi- 
cances of  scrutiny  which  do  not  express  thought  but 
show  where  it  is  concealed.  On  the  instant,  with  a 
shifting  of  the  eyelid,  it  was  gone.  "  Well,  cheer  up," 
he  said.  "  The  worst  is  yet  to  come."  And,  shrugging 
up  the  tray-straps  on  his  shoulders,  he  went  out,  to  meet 
the  small  attendance  of  visitors  who  were  following  the 
Professor  from  the  '.owpr  end  of  the  hall. 

She  sat  looking  after  him,  blankly,  with  the  socks  in 
her  hand,  weighed  down  by  an  apprehension  which  his 
parting  words  had  not  allayed. 

II 
The  hall  on  which  he  had  issued  was  the  width, 
length,  and  height  of  a  single  Bowery  shop  —  and  that 
is  narrow,  long,  and  low.  It  was  dismally  lit  with  a 
half-dozen  gas-jets  that  did  not  seem  to  thrive  in  the  ex- 
hausted air ;  and  under  these  jets,  on  platforms  along  the. 
walls,  sat  a  half-dozen  entertainers,  exhibitors,  and  living 
curiosities  waiting  for  the  public  to  be  drawn  to  them  by 
the  Professor's  "spiel."     In  a  double  row  down  the 


^  THE  MVStE 


283 

the  lung,,  Jifting  ^^^  Sh   H^  '"^'''''"-  f- 
for  the  hands,  autoratic  nh  '^'''  ^'P  "'"'1"°«« 

chines,  and  mutaZZHt'^^'^^''  "^'S^ing  ma- 

knew  by  heart  the  antolat Tc  /ecord  oH"  '1'^°"^ 
prowess.     They  walked  up  and  Til  ^^^''""^ 

chines  listlessly,  with  the  L  '  ^  ^  ^°^'  "^  '»«■ 
ife  when  he  is  r,i^^  t^  "'7^  *e  true  Boweiy- 
dering  about  iXelllT'^i ~ *''''*  «'  "f  wal 
clse,  with  the  certain  El,  ?'  "l  ""^'»»  ^'^'"^where 
nothing  new.  ^'^^''^^^  **""  ^e  will  find  there 

«ei;;^w7frjrproro:  ^'"'°™  -'^'^^^-^  ^- 

the'^eZaf  «;^rr^T't^'^^"-'  *^«  ~neer, 

»an.nablaekfittirsnitof  ^''"~'*  "'"''^  ^'"'e 

as  old  and  n:sty  ^  L'"  gf  ^^^"'"f  "^o^hee  that  looked 

manner  becanae^hem  aWsT  h'^^t"^^'  ^""^  ^'« 
h.gh  manner  of  public  11^'  5    C  ^^^  "  ^'^^^'^' 
*ache-a  mustache  that  ^ihed        ""^  '^^'^  ^'^  "-- 
overnanging  nose  as  if  i^elt  Z^,  "°''  ^'^^  "^  «" 
I'^tween  the  nose  and  thell     -^  f"f  ""comfortably 
black  strings  of  hal  ttV  ^"     ^'  ^""^  ''^^  ^^e  greasy 
top.    He  h'ld  dy  d  S    T  ""f  ^''^^  ^■^''«'d 
«andy  Scotch  by  nature  andT^  "''^'°'''-     ^^e  was 
But  ever,  one  whoTnew  hi''"  T'  ""^  ^""^-"O 
for  professional  reasons   an-T  "fl"'"^^  '^''  ^'  ^yed        ■ 

di^ise  his  eviden   age :  h" iTt  ^""t  '^  "■^''^'^  *» 
age,  ie  had  too  much  tolerant  con- 


284 


IN  THE  MFSEE 


tempt  for  the  world  to  aflFect  any  appearaaees  that  were 
o»ed  to  talk  down  to  his  audiences  patronizingly,  with 

lir/  r"'^'"^"*  «  they  might  come  to  a  high 
fZ  ,  r  "°"'  -'-olation-and,  while  he  lied  to 
tollth  "  P"r^;\»'«  did  it  for  their  own  good. 

rii*  J-"*^  '^"'  ""^""'''^  °^  ^-^^  *'«'*  !■«  had  been  wor- 

hi!?  K  "'f '/'  ^'"'"'""  ^"''o""  had  said-tharie 
had  been  bad-ten  ,ered,  as  Redney  had  had  cause  to 
observe  The  stah  of  the  Musee  had  suppos^  hat  thb 
change  ,n  km  was  due  to  the  «  bad  busfness  ";  and  the 
staff,  of  course,  had  been  right.    But  tonigh   he  had 

gaiety,  and  Eedney- after  listening  to  him  at  the 
Wer  end  of  the  hall-had  come  to  Madame  CalS 

1^  T  r  '^'  ""  """^  °^  "''ything  that  had  hi 
pened  to  reheve  t„e  anxieties  of  her  husband.    H^ 

sjrr  rd  h  ""r^  ''"^  *'«*  ^''^  --  -*  -^h 

watch  the  Professor  again  and  listen. 

The  pompous  little  man  cleared  his  throat.  «  Ladies 
an.  gent  e-men ,  »  he  b^an.  with  a  sort  of  beni^c t 
tempt.        Allow  me  to  in-troduce  to  your  no-tice  Pr<v 


IN  THE  MUS^E 


.  285 

S.  S,h^ '"■""'•' f "««'.".  "d  .h..^ .. 

of  those  individuals  who  IZy,  "  ^^^  *'"^^' 

cinity  of  this  l^^mi:t:ilTTJ^!^  '""^  ^ 
"">«-..  that  ProW  IT«r„  ^"^"^  "»<"■ 

will  perfonn  a  darLTl,?      T"'  ""  '^"^^  '^''«°» 

«ands  of  feet  above  the  ^r^^oiT   J^  *«°«  '^'>^- 
weather  on  that  OK,asion  uZn^toC        ■  ■  '  ''  *^ 

The  aeriaJist  was  starinl  !!?.,    u    .^"""P"'""*-" 
«>''«  head,  startled  ^      *^'  "^'^'^  ''^  **■«  P'ofes- 

-it:£ditr:arr'  ?^-  ^'^^  ^"^»« 

en-tirel^newandfoiLrS'^  '"tr'*  '''' 
on  ex-hibition  in  this  hall  frrK  "  "7'"  ''"  P^'^'^d 
erican  puWic  .  .  .  d„r  inl  "  *  °^  *^"  ^'«- 

ie-fore  the  Pro-fe^or  iZ  hit"  '°-«''«"'°^"*  •  •  ' 
Lon-don."  ^  ^*  '°-Jo»™  to  Paris  atui 

ito^''  'itllT^  °°  ^^''"--t  an^ong  the  "  vis- 
«ible  Proi^rX'-^.^^^'^t^eiC 
performed.     It  startled   TT»,-      ^  commonplace 

only;  he  had  phot^lphs^rT"  '°'  ^'^  "•«--' 
»ale,  and  he  h'astnSl  offer  t.  '"{  "'  ''^  «^«  f- 
was  still  new.  It  llful""^  ^^""  '''^  ^"^der 
-  W  tent;  but  shTSrf  "1°"'''  ^'«*--g 
-Hn,  an  heroic  e.ort:t:^ri7^X;- 


if  r  ( 


286 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


1  ill 
ifr 


il' 


1 


Redney  alone,  lounging  against  the  wall,  saw  something 

in  the  reckless  promise  of  the  speech  which  the  othera 

did  not  appreciate. 
The  Professor  rarely  joked.    He  had  always  been  a 

conservative  liar  on  the  platform  and  magnified  the  past 

of  his     exhibits     without  promising  too  much  for  the 
A^    ^And  Redney,  thoughtfully  scratching  in  the 

red  thatch  of  his  head,  was  aware  that  there  was,  as  he 

would  have  said,  "  somethin'  doin'." 

The  MusSe  had  seen  its  busiest  days  in  the  early 
eighties,  when  its  Civil  War  relics  were  still  fresh  from 
the  factory  and  there  were  enough  English-speaking  im- 
mip-ants  on  the  East  Side  to  give  the  Professor  a 
profitable  aud,enee.  In  the  nineties,  when  "Madame 
Carlotta  jomed  its  staff,  it  was  just  beginning  to  feel 
the  competition  of  the  Yiddish  theaters  and  the  pemiy 
arcades.  A  decaH.  later,  when  Redney  came  to  it,  it 
was  already  m  its  hopeless  decline.    What  he  called 

movin-pictur'    joints"    and     "nickelodeons"    had 
changed  the  public  taste  in  amusement.     Civil  War 

fr^'-  '"'  l""^''"  °^  '°t«'««t-even  though  they 
had  been  imperfectly  converted  into  relics  of  the  cam 
paign  m  Cuba.  The  living  curiosities  had  outlived 
curiosity.  Even  the  Musee's  «  Amateurs'  Night  "-  of 
he  Professor's  own  origination  -  had  been  stolen  by 

departed      A  thre^story  building,  with  a  theater  on  its 
ground  floor  and  two  large  amusement  halls  above,  can- 

thatZk?  b'f  "'"""  ""^  "^  '^"^  ^^'^'^  °f  dimes 
tiiat  took  a  whole  evening  to  fill  one  of  the  wooden  pools 


IN  THE  MVSEE 


287 


Tltdltftir'^-     ^'"-"^''^- Citable, 

The  Professor  pr^^eiM      ^7®"'  *"  ''"^'^'^^ 

-»e  tHoueand  ^Z^^^^^'j  ^^^  °^  ^^-p  into 
shoe-dressing  that  he  harl  ^  ,  "  water-proof 

Yellowstone  Pa4  and  to       T'*^  '"  "  " ^'^'"  - 

paper,  "  showing  seven  wnJ  T^  "'^'  *«''  t"8"e 

of  thennive.e,L7dL^;t;f  :^^^^^ 
scene  in  honor  to  our  natinn^V  ^  .    t™°«fonnation 
And  when  the  par^rJT       ''"'  ^^"''^  Dewey." 
h«  sleeves,  the  J^   ~V^«PP«»  Ward  to  rol/up 

"  What 'a  that  b';  do Lrfn  "  "?  ^'''""^  ^'^'o"-- 
he  demanded.  « i  iT^  '"A°"  *«"'  «»  the  time  i  " 
thatbeforu"         '  ^<'"'*  ^«'"  l»m  round.     I  told  you 

had  been  increased  tlLnf J  """^  °^  ^°"''"-  I* 
Professor's  eloquent  VTV  T"  «°°te«>Pt  for  the 
feet  when  Hedneyrcc  Jd  Jt  ^""^  ""'^'^^  -^  «f- 
with  iiadame  Carlottrttat  1  \'°,  '"K'''*'**"^  himself 


]r' 


888 


IN  THE  11  USEE 


|v 


"  That '»  —  that '«  that  boy  I  » 

"And  I  won't  stand  it.  Here  I've  been  «pendin' 
ev  ry  cent  I  made  -  on  you  an'  the  flat  -  ev'ry  cent  of 
It.  An  now,  ,f  anything  happens  I  got  nothin'-" 
She  checked  herself  with  the  thought  that  if  she  quar- 
reled, now,  she  might  not  have  even  him.  '« I  've  done 
everything  fer  you,  an'  you  haven't-    You  won't 

'Tl     -T    '^'  ''"'^'  P'^'^'i'^ely.  "  about  the  Musde, 
whether  it 's  goin'  to  bust  up." 

He  nodded  at  the  charts  of  palmistry  and  decorations 
of  hocus-pocus  on  the  walls.    "Read  it  in  the  cards," 
tie  said.    «  Bead  it  in  the  cards." 
"  You  've  never  troated  me  right.    Never  I " 
He  had  found  her  practising  her  innocent  black  arts 
in  a  tenement-house,  and  had  procured  her  her  place  in 
the  Mu«^.    He  was  then  a  lonely  old  bachelor,  and 
she  was  the  deserted  widow  of  a  circus  man  who  had 
run  away  from  her  and  taken  their  child.     She  had 
been  so  grateful  to  the  Professor  that  she  had  served 
h.m  ever  smce  like  a  bound  slave;  and  he  had  accepted 
everything  from  her  with  his  high-platform  air,  ac- 
knowledging no  obligation  to  anybody,  reserved  and 
selfish,  above  the  world  and  vain. 

He  said  now,  narrowing  his  eyes:  "If  the  Musee 
shuts  up,  p'rapsAe  '11  look  after  you,  eh  J  You  were  so 
set  on  giving  him  a  home,  mebbe  he'll  give  you  one. 
I  ve  never  treated  you  right!    You  turn  on  me  the 

L  •  iTl.!  "f"^'^  ^'■"^  ''^^  '^^''  •"«•     Mebbe 
he  11  do  better  for  you.     Yes  I     Eh  ? " 

"  I  never  turned  against  you."  she  weakened.    "  The 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


289 
hoy  'g  nothia-  to  me,  an'  you  know  it"    Sn.  i^ 
weep.     «  I  Ve  been  that  worn^T'  Yovl  t 
bad-tempered—    Wh  n,v,.»  1:0.1  re  been  bo 

place  d.ru  up » »  ^""'"  "*  ""  «oi     to  do  if  the 

Arewegoin'toclcetc^night?''         ^' 
■I  hat  s  not  your  bus'ness  " 
"We  are/" 

"  You  keep  quiet,"  he  ordered      «  n« 

to  -a  here  and  J.  ere^  for^i^^e T" '  ^'^-^ 

cH^^o?ir;rdttz^ii-°^-°^^'=-^'^e 

eall  of  duty  to  the  p'^Z  "?  '*'"''  '*  ^"^  '•>« 
i>e  left  her  and  wJk  ?"''  ^^  "''^  "  «""'  ««°rt 
out  after  hmherC  Xd"  ^^  ""'•  '^«  '^'^^'^ 
not  see  confrJnSXl  "fri2\r  ^*  '''^  ""'"^ 
De^ey  "  with  the  PhfLn"     *""'"]'''»'  ""^^  *»  Admiral 

But  even  throul  th  j  ?'°V''*°''' '" '''^  •'■'"^^^^ 
Jeard  the  Sfouf^ Str  'i'^  ^f  ^f 
flowers  blossom  on  these  islan     lly  foZ'ZT' 
and  P.S3  away,  but  the  flower  of  the  L       '  ' 


iiOO 


m  TUE  AIUSEE 


that  .hould  have  been  filled  with  an  ovation  to  the  hem, 
the  paper  wizard  bow.<l  himaelf  off.  The  imperishable 
glory  of  the  flower  of  the  uavy  had  alreacfy  faded  in  the 
heart*  of  hia  oountiymen,  and  Madame  Carlotta  recog- 
niiied  that  tho  wizard's  climajt,  like  everything  elae  in 
tlio  MuHoo,  was  a  foredoomed  failure. 

If  the  Musoo  closed  — 

"  Ladiesangclmn,"  a  new  voice  pipp,l  up,  «  alludin' 
to^  these  prize  puckages  w'ich  1  'm  givin'  away  this 
ev  nin  ,  I  want  'a  gay  each  an'  ev'ry  package  consists  in 
the  best  cough  drops,  dew  drops,  lera'nade  drops,  an' 
bunbuns  made  'r  manafactered,  war-nted  a  cure  fer  all 
such  88  coughs,  col's,  wart«,  an'  toot'aehes,  an'  if  any 
o'  youse — " 

rt  was  Eedney.  In  defiance  of  the  Professor's  orders 
and  the  rules  of  the  Musee,  he  was  crying  his  wares, 
hhe  watched  him  from  the  door  of  the  tent,  her  fingers 
at  her  mouth.  He  was  holding  aloft  a  sample  pack- 
Age. 

T  'l~J'^'  *""''  **  *"*"^'"'  '^^'*'  '^"■**'  «"'  toot'aehes, 
1  d  advise  him  to  try  one  at  onct     One  fer  you  ?  " 

The  Professor  had  shouldered  his  way  through  the 
httle  crowd  to  him.  Redney  oflFered  him  a  package 
impudently.  «  In  each  an'  ev'ry  package  the  ladies 
at  wraps  up  these  packages  —  Fi'  cents.  That 's  all 
Marked  down  from  ten.  Don'  want  it?  Well  run 
away  an'  play.     I  'm  busy."  ' 

The  Professor  had  reached  a  hand  out  at  him,  to  grip 
his  coat.  Redney  struck  it  aside.  "  Cut  it  out "  he 
snarled,  "  er  I  '11  — " 


IN  THK  MUSEU  ,„ 

"Redneyl"  die  cried, 

nngMs   an    ,f  any  o'  youw  gets  guch  a«  a  irol'  watch 

savm'  up  gol'  watohea  an'  ,i;'n.     >    ■    ^     .  ®  ' 

mas."  ^'"°°    "°««»  fe'  Chria'- 

The    Professor    had    mounted    another    platform 

bhng^vuh  rag.,  «.f  j.ou  will  „ow  kindly  ,tep  thi, 

"These  here  packages,"  Rodney  overtopped  hi., 
sels  fer  a  dune,  ton  cents,  but  on  th'^Tt  J  :  '. 

The  Bowery  knew  a  bargain;  and  the  prize  packages 

:;-ptHisway."butnoolCdS''A:rrhe: 
wipe  the  f  ,or  with  him.  he  shouted:     "  We  will  ..„ 


292 


III 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


proceed  downstairs,  where  some  inter-es-ting  exhibit, 
are  awa.tmg  us,"  and,  leaving  Eedney  to  his  triun.ph, 
he  went  below  w:th  all  the  dignity  of  an  old  dog  tha 
has  been  barked  out  of  countenance  by  a  pup 

{Z  >^"^/"^""'^'''^  *■'"  ''"y'  ^'  «^'d  cheer- 
fully:    "Now,  fnen's,  I  want  to  thank  yuh  fer  yer 

kind  attention  an'  say  good-night.  The  rest  o'  the 
show  s  waitm'  fer  yuh  downstairs.  Huny  up.  er 
^LT.:1.'--     «°-     ^O  figh?to-n%ht. 


.    I  f 

'    Ml, 


ni 
He  waited  until  the  last  reluctant  small  boy  had 
taken  to  the  stairs;  then  he  grinned  his  way  over  to 
Madame's  tent,  winking  at  his  friends  on  their  plat- 
forms  and  counting  his  nickels  as  he  went.    "  Well  " 
T^'T"?'"''^""*-     How'reyougettin'on?"    ' 

do  it^rl ''   ' '"""''  ^ "  '^'  '''^'^-  "  ^^"^  ^^^  y*'" 

He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  at  the  hall. 

They  re   grabbin'    everythin'    downstairs   fer   rent. 

Two  fer  a  nickel 's  better  'n  nothin'  apiece.    The  game  's 

"There!"  she  said.     "I  knew  it!" 

She  sank  back  upon  her  cushions,  staring  at  him  with 
the  dumb  eyes  of  disaster  realized.  ".  ,  ,  ,  . 
reached  foi 


er  cards  on  the  table. 
"  Now  what  '11  we  do  2  "  she  said.     "  Now  t  " 
He   at  down  and  shuiBed  the  bits  of  pasteboard 
began  to  lay  them  out  on  the  table  before  him 


and 


IN  THE  MUSEE  293 

«ru'^°*  ^°^°*  ""'^'^'"  "''«  *"''•     "Not  a  cent.  .  .  . 
Where  «  he?     The  Professor?     What's  he  goin'  to 

"  Yuh  can  search  nw."  Eedney  assured  her.  "  I  don' 
know.  He  studied  the  cards.  «  Say,"  he  said,  "  yuh 
been  married  before." 

"What?" 

She  blinked  at  him  between  grief  and  amazement. 

was  n't  he  ?    What  become  o'  the  boy  ?  " 

She  opened  her  mouth  to  speak  aoid  remained  with  it 
open,  leaning  forward  to  see  the  cards  -  which  he  was 
studying  sagely.     «  Yer  name  vas  Carr,  eh? »  he  said. 

aiSu?"       '  '  ^^^  ''''  ^^"^^  C^'l"""' 

She  clutehed  his  arm.   "  What  're  you  talkin'  about  ?  " 
I  m  telhn'  yer  fortuna"  He  spread  more  cards. 
Huhl     He  ran  ofF  with  the  kid.     A  tumbler.     Yuh 
don  t  say.    Got  his  neck  broke  in  Denver.    What  be- 
come o' the  kid  ? » 

She  answered,  as  if  in  spite  of  herself,  faintly     "  I 
don't  know."  .;  •        '■ 

"Well   let's  see."    He  spread  more  cards.     "The 
f,    f,     .'^   see.  .  .  .  How    about   thai?    That 
looks  like  It.     He  went  on  with  the  troupe.     An' then 
when  he  would  n't  tumble  he  got  to  sellin'  peanuts  an'    ■ 
lem  nade.    He  was  darned  glad  he  was  quit  o'  th'  ol' 


S94 


IN  THE  MIJSEE 


man.  Let's  see.  He  come  back  to  N'  York  "  Her 
hand  had  tightened  on  his  arm,  in  a  shaking  grasp. 

An  one  day,  on  the  BoVry,  he  seen  a  sign  '  Madame 
Cariotta    inaMusee.     Wonder  if  it  was  her  ? » 

He  grinned  round  past  his  shoulder  at  her.  «  Looks 
iike  her." 

Her  poor  old  face  was  as  if  paralyzed  in  an  expres- 
sion ot  incredulous  amazei.ient  and  delight.  "Ah'" 
she  said  in  her  throat,  without  moving  her  lips,  open- 
mouthed  And  then,  with  a  shaking  jaw,  stutteringly, 
sheened:  "B-b-bab!" 
•'  Sure  thing,"  he  grinned. 

She  caught  him  round  the  neck  and  drew  him  down 
to  her,  and  in  spite  of  his  shamefaced  and  protesting 
laughter  she  almost  strangled  him  with  a  hug  and 
smothered  him  in  her  embraces.  "Babl  Bab!"  she 
cried,  her  hands  about  his  face  as  if  he  were  a  child  - 
patting  his  cheeks,  stroking  his  hair  back  from  his  fore 
head,  kissmg  and  fondling  him.     "Oh,  Bab!"     Her 

tears  came  with  her  kisses.     "  My  —  my " 

It  was  too  much  for  her.  She  burst  into  sobs,  fum- 
biing  for  her  handkerchief. 

•    '^''^!^  r""^  ^''  awkwardly  on  the  back  whisper- 
Ztit.'^        "'"""•     T^^^'^^^^ght.     Don't  cry 

t>,r  ?^'  ^  TH  ^f  ?  '*'"  '^^  ^'P*'  ^'P'^g  her  eyes  with 
the  sleeve  of  her  kimono.     "I'm  so-     Oh,  I  was  so 

orsi'  "^' ''  '^''^  "'*  "^^ ""  '^  *"■■'  ""^  ""^  °°''  - 

"  That 's  all  right,"  he  said.     "  I  'd  'a'  told  yuh  long 


IN  THE  MUSEE  296 

Oh,  Bab! "  «""caiiy.        oh,  I  'm  so  glad. 

right,"  J  aid     "?th      J'  f°"''^^'--     "That's  all 
The  nam!  oh.\  a  I       ^^^'  P"P'  *«  Professor-" 

J-    recaiiea   to   the   thought   of  hini.     "t   ^-j    u 

I  Jd';ik^-rb  !'S  tr  l-r  -"■'-^  "•  "■»■ 


0' 


see 


IN  THE  MUSEE 


If';    ' 


"you've  got  it  now.  They 've  seized  eveiything."  He 
saw  Eedney,  and  threw  out  a  hand  at  him,  passionately, 
shaking  the  handkerchief.  "  Get  out  of  here.  Get  out." 
Eedney  nodded.  "  I  'm  goin'.  Come  on,  mom." 
She  jabbed  in  her  hat-pins.  "  That  '3  my  son,"  she 
said.  "That's  my  boy.  He's  offered  me  a  home. 
Now,  then ! " 

The  Professor  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  with  his 
scowl  of  anger  slowly  fading  tiU  his  face  was  a  gape  of 
staring  astonishment. 

^^  "You've  never  treated  me  right,"  she  cried. 
"  Never  I  I  've  given  you  everything  —  worked  fer  you 
an'  everything.     I  'm  not  goin'  to  do  it  no  more." 

He  sat  down  among  the  cushions,  blinking,  with  a 
sort  of  stunned  look  that  was  pitiable  enough  to  accuse 
her  of  inhumanity. 

"  You  've  made  my  —  It 's  been  a  cat  an'  dog  life," 
she  defended  herself.  «  You  've  brought  it  on  yerself. 
I  wanted  to  do  what  was  right.  You  've  no  one  but  yer- 
self to  blame." 

He  tried  to  pull  himself  together,  with  a  return  of  his 
pride. 

"  I  don't  want  to  leave  you  on  the  street,"  she  said, 
relentingly.  She  looked  around  at  Redney.  "I 
s'pose,  if  he  — until  he  gets  work  somewhere—" 

The  Professor  drew  himself  up.  "Nol"  His 
voice  was  no  more  than  a  croak.  "  No !  "  His  vanity 
would  not  let  him  —  or  if  not  his  vanity,  then  his  self- 
respect.  He  did  not  know  how  dependent  he  was;  we 
none  of  us  do.    He  had  regarded  himself  as  a  masterly 


it 


IN  THE  MFSEE  gjy 

strong  spirit,  living  aloof  from  th^ 
i*y:  «.d  he  was  wilW  toTt  f  """^-T  "^  *'"°"'»- 
of  kindliness  or  reconSatti  ^^  "'''''"'  "^  "°«^ 

spedTnUnSrhlritt  ^'■^'^^-     ^^ 
tie  living  curiMit;»,       !,  °/*^k  af^r  her.     There,  all 

P-aenger^  onTsSi^gJ^'^^  *°^*''-  "ke  the 
their  trunks,  their  propertief  th^T'  "T  "^^  '"«*' 
their  poor  exhibits  were  au'  he  ^  f'"!^  '"^"'^^  ""'^ 
faced_  bankmptc,  and  ^an"  IVj.  ^''^  'r  ^^^ 
captain  of  the  wreck  stoo^f.  Professor,  the 

that  hubbub,  aTt^en  tl      !  T'^''''  ?'''«  I'^fo'^ 
back  stairs,  i^to  the  stet'  '"*"  '''  ^'^^  ^^e 

He  wandered  about  desolately  till  f.,-       j 
iome  to  his  empty  rooms    ^\  ]  {^^^  ^'"^^  ^™ 
trunk  was  gone\idTof  I.  n^^"  *^^'«-     Her 

could  be  paSed  S  t  OnThT  .'""""^''"^^  *^* 
hu.g  on  a  ga^iet  where  he''^,  I  'Ct:^  ^^  ^-^T' 
had  scrawled :     «  Qood-by  "  '^  "'  ^^e 

He  left  it  therei 

.t,'t'pi:^,r  .ranis'"  ""»"■•"■' - 

That  was  some  veara  airr.     t? 
Bowery  Musee  <•.  Jn^^'     ^'"'•>.  """^  of  the  old 


t, 


Ill  lil 
III  III 


^*®  IN  THE  MU8EE 

gother-no  one  knows  whera  Only  the  Professor 
remainB-an  old  rounder  on  the  Bowery,  gray  an' 
shabby,  sleeping  in  doss-houses  and  hawUng  a  china 
cement -and  he,  as  the  chief  victim  of  this  tragedy 
m  fakirdom,  is  still  too  proud  for  pity  and  too  absurd 
lor  anything  elsei 


I  ' 


,).  . 


THE  EXILES 


THE  EXILES 

stari»g.  with  all  its  shut    ts  IT    '^'^  '"  "^ 
roadway  at  the  other  inTf.  T    u  "'''•^''^«'  a^^s  the 
meeting  his  double     b1    ^^  T^""^"'  "^  «  °"'° 
the  saie  four  "0":  of        T™  '"^^  ^^"^''-"^  •" 
like  all  its    elloT   L  w       "'    ^'"'^  "''"^°-  -- 
«  line  as  the  ncLarts  ol?  ""^'f  "'  ^^'"'^ 
third  window  in  Ll^LtZ  ^h       ' '  ""'  "'  ^^'-'^^ 
-as  if  it  were  a  foot  oll^rul-r^r  ""'•''  "^ 
a  brownstone  stoon    fr«™     u-  1.       ''^  ^  P'"°J^tion  of 
down  to  the!ide3t  "'^"^  "  ^^'^  ''  ^*«P«  1«<« 

pe-usl;r:t!^ff"r'«^, "' ''"""'  ''"^'  -  '*«  p- 
ideal  of  i'ZZr:^zr^::zr''^/' 

to  the  strictest  -.^,.,r„„+-  /  '  *"^"'  accord  ne 

it i.ad  fZTlrzSrj^T''''-  ^"'  ^^' 

methodical  air  seemed  oX  ^'^'"'  "^'"^  '*'  '«*' 

boarding-houses  wW  tT  ^  ^'?""  ^  '""^  =*  «t'^t  of 

w^ing^and  e.ting,  Jo AXlcIV"''  '"^^"^' 

M«  ZXtlTX''^'  '^'  ''-°^~  -aid  in    • 
^  «  board.ng-house  had  to  look  for  entertain 


809 


I     fi 


THE  EXILES 


ment  whenever  she  waa  tired  of  Ler  round  of  «v.V,V- 
-rving,  .nd  wa.hing.„p.  She  w..  T  w/^^'S 
hernan.e  w..  Annie  Free];  and  her  cheek,  were  'till 

tarnuhed  g.  t  fran.e«,  hung  on  a  yellowedTalpl  ; 
that  mad©  the  whole  room  look  -if  *v.     ■  ^^ 

on  the     area     and  the  street;  and  whenever  theThS 

She  let  her  hand  fall  idle  into  the  cool  water  of  th« 
pan   and  .tared       the  dust  floating  in  the  iTght 
^_The  cook  called  hoarsely  from  the  kitchen:    "An- 

She  started.     "Yis?" 


THE  EXILES 


303 


''Wh«t'rey',t}.. 
"  Peelin'  pitatie*." 

"What'8n.akin'yehsonowy|" 
■Annie  looked  down  at  h^r  i,.„j      •  i 
"  Whjr  don't  veh  ,;n!  ^  '"*^°"*  MBwering. 

voice  wi  ,221      *  ""  ""'^  ''"**  '^^' ' "    Th'e 

silencft  '''  '""Sned  herself  to  a  stifled 

-VSeX  LTntr'^'^  '^'^  ^''^  «*-'' 
Annie  dropped  h^rnl;  T    ^f"^  "^  ^'^  «  J^'-k;  and 

'hesawalliXlrKr*"''^^'*^''^-  ^hen 
her  dish-pan  Tthe  de^^^*?""  -^  "''-J'  «he  put 
fn>n.  the  light  to  larT^r  T'"  "'"'  «*<^<J  '""'k 
He  bustled  down  in^Jhe  a^  "f."  '""'^  °^  '^''*--- 
«»>  a  tug  at  the^r         "*  '^''  ^^'^'^  «"  »•«  -«ight 

that?'""^   bel"   the   cook   cried   to   her.     "What's 

wtcht^  ^  hTwll'tt  rt  T'^'  •■-  -  ^'■^ 

-t'    That's  not  JaZ;,'    ''"*  *'^  "^^  ""'  "^  ^^ 

Annie  shook  her  head.     «Wo»  =1,^      -j 
and  turned  to  er  tv  thA    i  J^  '        ®  ^*"^  vacantly, 
^  '^y  *''«  ^asJ'et  on  the  serving^table. 


i  ^'^ 


304 


THE  EXILES 


<.J  »*^''  '*"^'*'  '  moment  on  the  tone  of  that 
No; "  and  then,  taking  up  the  chopper,  ahe  attacked 
the  meat  in  the  wooden  chopping-bowl  with  vicioua 
Mows.  She  had  the  arm  of  a  butcher  —  short  but 
powerful -and  a  body  of  the  same  LuHd;  her  hair 
was  a  greaay  gray;  her  face  wag  the  flat-nosed  type  of 
Irish,  that  is  so  pathetically  like  an  ape's. 

Annie  went  out  with  the  empty  basket,  but  this  time 
ahe  met  the  man's  eyes  with  a  look  of  inquiry  that  held 
him  until  she  could  ask:  "Where's  Mr.  Boland 
now  ? " 

Ho  grinned.  "Jack J  Oh,  he's  quit.  He's  got 
married.    I  don't  know  where  he  is." 

She  released  her  hold  of  the  basket,  her  face  as  blank 
as  a  bewildered  child's. 

"  Jack  'd  sooner  marry  than  work,='  he  laughed.  He 
added  over  his  shoulder  as  he  went,  "  Hot,  ain't  it  ?  " 

She  shut  the  basement  door,  and  stood  for  a  long  time 
with  her  fingers  in  the  iron  lattice,  gazing  out  at  the 
area  with  set  eyes.  When  she  turned  back  to  the  din- 
ing-room,  she  groped  her  way  '  ndly  through  the  dark 
b.M.  And  when  she  sat  down  to  her  work  again,  h^.T 
hands  went  about  it  mechanically  under  the  fixed  mask 
of  her  face. 

"Is  't  the  heat  that 's  worryin'  yeh ?  "  the  cook  asked 
a  tieir  luncheon  «  Sure  I  know  it  is,"  she  persisted, 
at  the  girl's  listless  denial.  "It's  bad  weather  far 
young  blood.  Me  own  ould  skull's  splittin'  like  the 
Bhell  of  a  hard-boiled  egg.  Phew  I  Go  in  an' lay  yer- 
silf  down,  that's  a  good  child.     It's  out  'n  the  fields 


THE  EXILES 


/o»<rhttobe,,t.ckin'h.y'«id„/  .     .,.  ^"* 

[»y  stiff.  The  pillow  WM  hirl  .  ?  '""■  ^^  ""d 
h«  cold  hand  on  ber  bZ^  ^  ^^  ^^^-  Si^  put 
"^t'ied  in  a  wild  ,tZ  ZT"^  '^'^^'  ""^  her  .^es 
facked  on  the  wall  atTCflT/r  ."','''"•"«'  »'"«»  -« 
'«  the  open  breast  flamSr^  °^  '^  ^'  ^''i  the  heart 

The  cook  mutterTo^r'S      "  f  ""^  ""'^'«- 
«^«  'et  up  a  bu  tW  w^■  .  "^'«''««  God  '' 

boy  Jawn,  I  wonder.     Thn  I"         A  '  happened  that 
-«;«'  fer  'n.  fer  a  wS  pTt"'  ^''ll  '"«'»  •-» 
ho"  •  .  .  If  he's  plavin'  i        '  •  :  ■^'""^'  hut  it '» 
his  back."  ^  ^"^  «*«««  'rith  i»er,  I ']]  fc^ak 

The  city  Uked  its  bricks  ««j    * 

«-d  dry  as  a  kiln.  ST'w  J  tt  r*"- ^  ^'^  "«  ''°' 
a  ««t  as  wann  as  stea^  W  ^^^  "''«"''»  »f  'he  sun, 
B-^;  the  faint  breieThaf  ^d  L'**^  '''  ^'"'^  *i« 
on  the  housetops  feebly  fe  1  !1  ^"l  ^"*^"»«  "W 
P-->«  of  steam  ro  f  fl'^°"«  f  "^-^eys ;  thf 
"fraight  in  the  still  air  Th^  t^r""^'  ''""'^^g* 
"mothering  alL  ^^^  ^"^^  <J»Bk  closed  do,^ 

Annie  came  white  fm™  ». 
f^om  paa  to  pan  in  tt tTsJl  7"?*    ^''^  """^"-1 
'he  cook.     Da«d  and  stu^T  f    .f  *^^  ^'''^'  ''^'P"? 
'oom,  she  served  gr^as'f 'i  ?  ''f  »'"«  "^  'he  dining 

>ng  dishes  -  at  the  sink  wSSl"  'u  P""  °^  «*«"»- 
^''ere  the  roaches  gathered  to 


306 


THE  EXILES 


the  sound  of  trickling  water  — she  washed  a  thousand 
glasses,  cups  and  saucers,  plates  and  spoons,  knives, 
forks,  pans  and  pots,  deaf  to  the  kindly  garrulity  of  the 
cook  who  helped  her.  When  it  was  done,  she  went 
back  to  her  bed  again.  «  Ah,  go  away,  Maiy,"  she  said 
wearily.     "  Go  away  an'  let  be." 

Mary  took  the  kitchen  rocking-chair  and  carried  it  out 
resolutely  to  the  area.  "  As  sure  's  my  name 's  Mary 
McShane,"  she  promised  herself,  "  I  'II  break  the  back 
o'  that  boy  Jawn!  Here's  Saturda'  night,  an'  no 
sight  of  'm  since  this  day  week.  Let  'm  come  now. 
Let  'm  come.  I  '11  give  'm  a  piece  o'  me  mind."  And 
she  sat  down  with  her  arms  crossed  to  wait  for 
him. 

There  was  a  fluttering  of  white  skirts  here  and  there 
on  the  porches  across  the  road,  where  some  boarders 
were  sitting  out.  Men  dragged  past  with  their  straw 
hats  in  their  hands  and  their  coats  on  their  arms.  The 
clang  of  trolley  gongs  and  the  iron  hum  of  trains  on  the 
elevated  railroad  came  to  her  drowsily.  She  relaxed 
to  an  easier  posture  and  b^an  to  fan  herself  with  her 
apron  as  she  rocked.  Both  motions  ceased  together. 
She  closed  her  eyes. 

It  seemed  only  a  moment  later  that  she  was  awak- 
ened by  an  insistent   "I   say,   cook!     Cook!"     She 
started  up  to  see  the  young  man  whom  she  knew  as 
Mr.  Beatty  of  the  top-floor  rear"  leaning  over  her 
He  said :     "  What 's  wrong  with  Annie  ? " 

"Annie?"   she  gasped,   wide  awake.     "Saints   in 
Hiven  — " 


THr  EXILES  307 

"  Oh,  it 's  nothim  ,"  ho  huahel      "  «su»  -.     j      ■ 

of  !  eXf  ^vt  "'  '"  t  '-  ^^^  -  ^  P-'^- 

He  waited. 

"  Annie  i  "  she  said      "  <3„-       u    . 

answer  the  door  bell  fo7her     T    '  '   •  ^^"^  """^  ^^ 

ff,»,„  I.     ■  ^'^^    ^  "'as  sitting  on  the  sten^ 

there,  having  a  smoka"  ^ 

» »«.  .t..  j.»  o,rr \,  b.  ™  iir r;: 

totter  than  Ireland,  cook."         ' '"  ^'^     But  this  is 
despS;'''^' i;i Jat"^^^^  -  -f-ted  gesture  of 

eCent  resig^a^  n.     "lli^t  ,  I"  '""t  f  ^ 
back    tn    it      *        J  J"^*  dreamm'   I  was 

back    to    It.     Aw,   dear,   dear!     Will  I  niver  fergel 

He    laughed      He    asked    in    a    bantering    tone- 
Would  you  like  to  go  back  ? "  ^ 

™  go  Daok  to?    Naw,  naw.    .Whin  yeh're 


308 


THE  EXILES 


ould  there  'a  no  goin'  back  to  the  young  days  —  excipt 
while  yeh  sleep.  An'  it  'a  the  sorry  wakin'  yeh  have." 
"  That  'a  true,"  he  said,  to  humor  her. 
"  It  is,"  she  replied,  unmollified,  "  but  little  enough 
yeh  know  of  it.  Yeh  '11  learn  whin  yeh  're  a  dodderin' 
ould  man  with  no  teeth  to  grip  yer  pipe  to."  She 
nodded  at  a  memory  of  her  own  grandfather,  drowsing 
before  the  peat  fire,  of  an  evening,  under  the  soot-black- 
ened beams  of  tho  kitchen,  with  his  pipe  upside  down 
in  his  mouth. 

Beatty  smiled.  The  talk  of  this  old  woman  of  the 
basement's  underworld  —  with  her  plaintive  Irish  in- 
tonation and  her  comic  Irish  face  and  her  amusing 
Irish  "touchiness"— was  as  good  as  a  play  to  him. 
"  How  long  have  you  been  out  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Long  enough  to  learn  better.  Foorty  year  an' 
more." 

"  Well,  why  did  you  come  then  ?  " 
She  turned  on  him.  "God  knows!  Why  did  I? 
Why  did  Annie  gurl?  Well  may  yeh  ask!"  She 
•  tossed  her  head  resentfully.  "Beca'se  roasted  pitaties 
an'  good  buttermilk  were  too  poor  fer  proud  stummicks. 
Beca'se  we  wud  be  rich,  as  they  toP  us  we  wud,  here  in 
Amenky.  An'  what  are  we?  The  naygurs  o'  the 
to^-n,  hvin'  in  cellars,  servin'  thim  that  pays  us  in  the 
money  that  we  came  fer,  an'  gettin'  none  o'  the  fair 
^vords  an'  kindness  we  left  behind.  Sure  at  home 
they  're  more  neighborly  to  the  brute  beasts  than  y'  are 
here  to  the  humans."  She  looked  out  at  the  stifling 
street.     "  We  're  strangers  in  a  strange  land,  as  Father 


THE  EXILES  309 

Tierney  says.     We  're  a  joke  to  yez,  an'  that  'a  the  best 

yeh  '11  iver  make  of  us." 
He  sobered  guiltily  and  looked  do;vn  at  his  feet. 
An  Annie!  "  she  broke  out,  "the  simple  cr'ature, 
ust  to  b.g  gossoons  o'  boys  that  swally  their  torgx,c 
whm  they  go  coortm'  an'  bare  niver  a  word  to  say- 
atb-  \f  .VTt'  °'  '^''  erinnin'  Ja,vn  of  hers  with 
all  his  blether?     I  know  him.     He 's  the  mate  of  a  lad 
that  came  acrost  me  the  first  year  I  was  out,  with  his 
bat  on  the  comer  oi  his  head  an'  the  divil  in  's  eye. 
An   he  talked  with  me  an'  walked  with  me  an'  called 
me  candy  names,  till  there  was  nuthin'  but  the  sound 

eye  the  whole  livelong  day  till  he  came  again  of  an 
eyen.n'.»  Her  voice  broke.  "Faith,  the  time  he 
kissed  me  first  -  at  the  gate  that  was  - 1  ran  into  the 
house  tnmblin'  an'  blushin'  wit'  the  fear  an'  th.  delight 
of  It,  me  ban's  shakin'  so  I  cud  scarce  get  me  clo's  off 
me  to  git  into  me  bed,  an'  layin'  a-wake  weepin'  an' 
mihn  thither  all  night  long  to  think  of  it.  That 's 
^e  sort  o'  fool  I  was.  Th'  angils  jus'  come  to  Hiven 
were  no  happier.  ...  I  was  come  to  th'  ither  place  be- 
^e^I  was  done  with  him.  .  .  .  Poor  Anniel     Poor 

He  looked  at  her,  silenced  and  ashamed.  She  wiped 
her  cheeks  with  her  apron  and  sighed  under  a  load'S 
anxiety  for  Annie  He  tried  to  think  of  something  to 
say  m  apology  and  reassurance;  and  glancing  from  her, 

silhouetted  against  a  street  light.     "  There !  "  he  whis- 


310 


THE  EXILES 


|1! 


slfh  "J'"''*i^t-Ye«itis.  She '«  coming  back. 
She  hadn't  met  him.  .  .  .  That's  all  right  now  S^ 
must  n't  let  her  go  out  again" 

ieepm  her  from  gom'  out  with  him  any  niirht  these 
T  was  not  like  her  to  steal  out  so."  ^ 

sugi^S!  ""'  ^  ""'*'"«  "'""^  -'^J'  !>-'"   he 
"There   is   that,"   she   said.     "There's   somethin' 

wantm'  to  her  an'  she'll  niver  find  it  in  this  W 
hough  she  seek  it  iver  so.     A  home  of  her  own  b^k  o' 

the  boor-tree.  -  an'  a  dip  o'  bog  fer  to  plant  her  p^tety 

Bhps  m       an'  a  scraw  fer  her  fire  an'  her  man  toS 

lei  o^h  !:•  •*'  r:  *^^  '^'y  "-'-'  betw^  ^e 
iegs  of  bs  chair,  an'  the  neighbors  droppin'  in  to  sossin 
-•  sp.t  ,n  the  bla^e  -  she  '11  niver  findTt  here !     Z7 

ti'  tli^  f.  K  ""''"  *"""'  *"  '^^  *•"»*  has  it, 
tellm  thim  the  big  wages  she  earns  an'  sendin'  thim 
mon^y  to  Christmas  -  powerful  small!" 

While  she  had  been  talking,  Beatty  had  seen  a  noHoP- 
man  stop  to  look  up  at  the  door  and^hen  sTi^ter  tS 
toward  his  street  comer.     And  Beatty  was  sSl  frnwf 

Whur  ve  yeh  been  to,  Annie  ? "     He  turned  to  see  the 
girl  standing  behind  the  grated  basement  door 

AndBeattys^peclicke/surn-i;!^;;^^" 


THE  EXILES  sil 

bed' ^mm  "1'"  '^  T^  "'^"'■«^-     " G"  back  to  yer 

"  IsTt  ? "  T  "'fV  "'^''*  ''''''■     'T  -  too  'ate." 
"Is  il^^la";''"''*''^ '"''''' '^"-''^«^''"^- 
;;iti.that.     Gotobed,g„rl.     Yeh 're  tired  out" 
Oh?     sae  said  softly.     "  It 's  too  late."    And  she 
disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Beatty   caught   a  quick   breath.    «W-what   is   it? 
What's  the  matter  with  her?"  ' 

hJ^^r""  ^'"""'"^  ^''""y--  "I've  told  yeh  sor 
but  yeh  '11  not  understan'."  ^    '       ' 

huZr  *!:7'%^'>'"f^"g  -ong  with  her,"  he  said 
T T      ,.  "°*  ''^  natural  voice  " 

i«t  be,  boy,"  she  replied.     "Her  tro„Kl«'«  „ 
to  liBi-     ^xr„  1  ,  trouble  s  come 

to  her.  We  can  do  naught  fer  her  now."  She  added 
more  gently:  "  Wn>,o  i;i,„  »  ^  ■,  '^"e  aaaea, 
'T  is  Lt  tn  7  t  1         ^'^^  ^^^  o"'"  ^ores,  sor. 

.£S' -  ""* — ^^^ 

She  nodded  and  nodded      Aft*.,.  „    -i 
"No  donVt      Tt,    I    :         ^"^'^a  silence,  she  said: 
bornV'  ^''^  ^«'*'  t°o-     Are  y  a  Noo  Yorker 

^i^t':i^ii£::ui~="^°-^-- 
-'^:ss^:r;:r:''-^^**"— -- 

He  did  not  reply,  and  she-  did  not  speak  again.     For 


312 


THE  EXILES 


a  long  time,  they  sat  silent.  Then  they  began  to  talk 
in  low  tones  of  anything  but  the  thoughts  that  were  in 
both  their  minds,  until  a  stealthy  rustle  at  the  basement 
door  brought  them  around  with  a  start  to  see  Annie,  all 
in  white,  fumbling  at  the  latch.  She  got  the  door  open 
and  drifted  out  into  the  light,  bare-footed.  Beatty 
stiffened  at  the  sight  of  her  face.  The  cook  started  up 
and  caught  her  by  the  arm.  She  swung  unsteadily. 
"  That 's  me  money,"  she  said  tonelessly ;  and  Beatty 
heard  the  ring  of  coins  on  the  area  paving. 
"  Annie !  Annie !  "  the  cook  cried. 
"  An'  that 's  me  purse,"  she  said,  dropping  it. 
The  cook  threw  her  arms  about  her.  "Annie! 
Annie  dear !  What 's  this  fer  i  What  ails  yeh,  gurl  ? " 
She  put  a  hand  down  to  loosen  the  cook's  arm  from 
her  side.  "  'T  will  bum  yeh,"  she  said.  "  Me  heart  's 
all  afire  there,  like  the  pi'ture."  A  bit  of  silver  fell 
from  her  sleeve  and  tiiikled  at  her  feet.  She  looked 
down  at  it.  "  I  put  it  by  fer  Jawn.  .  .  .  What 's  be- 
come of  Jawn  ?    Jawn  ? " 

The  cook  backed  her  to  the  rocking-chair  and  forced 
her  to  sit  down.  "Dang  yer  Jawn!"  she  cried. 
"  Will  yeh  drive  us  all  daft  ? " 

It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  got  the  light  on  the 
girl's  face  —  a  face  set  like  stone,  while  the  eyes  shifted 
and  wept  — and  she  wailed:  "Ach,  Annie  darlin'," 
and  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  her.  "  Is  it  come  to 
this,  gurl?  Dear  Lord,  what've  they  been  doin'  to 
yeh  ?    Look  at  me.     Look  at  me,  child." 

Annie  was  staring  at  Beatty,  and  he  was  sitting  cold 


THE  EXILES  813 

with  horror  on  the  window-sill.  «  Who  'b  that  ?  »  she 
said.  Good-evenin',  sir,"  she  smiled.  "  Yeh 're  late 
with  the  eroc'-ies"     Rl,«  ^*  ^e"  relate 

'•      Ti/     »   .  ^®  ^*  "**  answer.     "  Look  at 

.m,  Mary,"  she  said  fearfully,  and  put  her  hand  up  to 
her  eyes,  and  peered  at  him  through  her  fingers.  "He 
glowers  at  me  so."  o  -^  xie 

^.^''ATC*''^  "^^  ^^"'^'^-  "■^^'  '»<"-'  Annie 
pnl  Don't  be  takin'  on.  'T  is  Mister  Beatty  from 
the  top  floor,  an'  what  '11  he  be  thinkin'  of  yeh  talkin' 
such  hke  foolishness."    She  wWspered:    "Have  wit, 

tI  .n  u  ^T  ^''  ^*"'^^-  ^'^'^^  t°  »>«•  Listen 
They'll  be  takin'  y'  away.  They'll  shut  y'  „p  « 
BeUevue  fer  mad.    Have  yeh  no  sinse  lift  ? " 

Beatty  had  risen  heavy-kneed  and  stumbled  to  the 
basement  door.  "I'll  bring-I'H  bring  the  doctor," 
he  stammered,  and  ran  in  for  his  hat 

The  cook  had  not  heard  him,  but  when  she  looked 
around  she  knew  what  had  happened,  and  she  jumped 

They  re  coinm';"  and  fell  on  her  knees  to  gather 
up  the  scattered  money  in  her  apron.  "  Go  to  bed,  guri  I 
Ach,  Anme,  Annie,"  she  cried  despairingly 

Annie  was  rocking"  in  the  chair,  crooning  and  talk- 
ing t«  herself.  The  cook  caught  her  by  the  frm,  puTli 
wLst"!''''.  ,  "^-l  hurried  her  indoors.  "Whist! 
Whis  !  she  pleaded.  "Quit  yer  nonsinse,  Annie. 
Ah,  quit  It  -  quit  It !  Wud  yeh  let  yerself  be  taken  to 
the  madhouse?    Ah.  God  ha'  mercy-" 

She  hurried  the  giri  indoors;  and  she  had  her  in  bed 
and  frightened  mto  silence  when  Beatty  returned  with    ■ 


-  ( 


814 


THE  EXILES 


I 


the  doctor.  "She's  better  now,"  ihe  said  iuavely, 
meeting  them  in  the  dimng-room.  " 'T  was  but  a  touch 
of  the  sun,  doctor." 

He  looked  at  her.  She  stood  blinking  and  shifting 
her  small  eyes.    "  What  did  you  do  for  her? " 

She  began  to  stammer:  "  Wh-what  did  I  do  fer  her  ? 
Why,  to  be  sure,  I  —  I  — " 

"  Take  me  to  her,"  he  ordered. 

She  gave  Beatty  a  look  of  hate  and  despair,  and  led 
into  the  kitchen. 

Beatty  did  not  follow.  He  steadied  himself  against 
the  old  marble  mantel  of  the  dining-room,  and  mopped 
his  face  and  neck  weakly  with  his  handkerchief. 

When  the  doctor  reappeared,  he  ordered :  "  Call  the 
ambulance.  From  Bellevue  Hospital  Be  quick 
now!" 

_    Beatty  edged  slowly  to  the  door.     He  darted  through 
It,  and  ran  upstairs,  and  locked  himself  in  his  room. 

"  You'U  have  to  get  your  breakfast  at  a  restaurant, 
Mr.  Beatty,"  the  boarding-house  mistress  told  him  next 
morning.    "  My  cook  has  left  me." 

"  What  for  ?  "  he  asked  guiltily. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  The  maid  that  waits 
on  the  table  took  ill  last  night.  She  was  delirious  — 
out  of  her  mind  — positively  violent  when  the  ambu- 
lance came  for  her.  The  doctor  ordered  it  I  could  n't 
keep  her  here.  How  could  I?  Who's  to  look  after 
her  here  ?    The  work  has  to  be  done  — " 

"  How  is  she  ? "  he  interrupted. 


THE  EXILES  315 

"S'w'hadssnMtroke.opIdon'tkiiowwhat.  I  was 
^  upset  last  nigh.  -  We  had  a  terrible  time  with  her 
I  dou  t  know  wh«t  U  was.  It  must  Ve  been  a  sunstroke. 
We  had  a  fet  rti.1  tK-ene." 

"  Is  she  betiur  i" 

««l^f '"  "^^  '"'^'  '"^  "  '"'*  "^  •'««'"<'«.  "'he  died 
Z  ^  ^»  ^orning  in  the  hospital.  ...  And  lla.7," 
she  cned"  accuses  me  of  murdering  her.  And  The 
packed  up  her  trunk  and  left  at  six  o'clL  this  m^ifg 
^thout  even  waiting  for  her  wages.  I  never  heard  oi 
™-gS;:^./*'^^-'«*''^-<'-^^-  Irish 


DURING  THE  WAR 


CUBING  THE  WAK 

A  WAR,"  he  said  omphatieaJly,  laying  Us  big  hand 
flat  on  the  bill  of  fare,  "  a  war  'a  a  fire  in  a 
house.  It 'g  fought  to  save  the  house.  The  house 'b  the 
important  thing.  Everybody  underatands  that  at  the 
tima  Nowadays,  you  all  talk  and  write  about  it  — 
glorious  fire  —  heroic  firemen  —  as  if  the  whole  thing  'd 
been  some  sort  of  spectacle  that  the  rest  of  us  stood 
around  and  cheered  I    All  damn  nonsense  1 " 

"Father I  Father!"  his  daughter  cried,  between 
laughter  and  frowns.  "You'll  scandaUze  the  wait- 
ers." 

The  lieutenant  smiled  at  him  unabashed.  "  That 's 
true  of  a  civil  war,  at  least." 

"  Any  war  'a  a  civil  war,"  he  replied.  «  We  're  all 
human  beings." 

He  waa  leaning  forward,  with  shoulders  almost  as 
broad  as  the  smaU  table,  with  the  huge  head  of  a  saga- 
cious gianti  glaring  under  irascible  gray  eyebrows.  The 
slim  lieutenant  looked  like  a  David  t»  his  Goliath 
—  respectful  but  undismayed.  The  daughter  put  her 
hand  on  her  father's  great  maul  of  a  fiat.  "  You  cross 
old  bear,"  she  said.  "  Why  don't  you  order  your  din- 
ner  ?    You  're  hungry." 

319 


m 


330 


DURING  THE  WAR 


'nothing  fit  to  eat," 


He  growled  stanething  about 
and  took  up  the  menu  again. 

t.IT*  Tu'"  P''.*  ""^  ^  ^""^  ^^^  '^'-^'^  Avenue' 
torn  down,'  she  explained  to  the  lieutenant;  and  he  re- 
flected her  aznusement  in  a  frank  expression  of  his 

£r^  ^'^'  t'^  '"'''  *"  ^  '-*-«d  V  her 
M  /**  ".f"'  "■■  "^  *P^"t«J  independence, 

wbch  came  of  a  military  carriage  of  the  heaVand  ^ 
unwavenng  directness  in  the  eye.  She  approved  of  it. 
fatLr       T  "  ^'1*  '^""^  "^"^  ''^^^  before  her 

riSouTLrL!*'^"  "''^'^"^'^  ""^^  *''^""'^^- 

The  lieutenant  asked:  "You  wer«  accustomed  to 
going  there  —  to  the  '  Fifth  Avenue '  ?  » 

"  Only  hotel  in  the  town,"  her  father  muttered  "  A 
mn^^might's  well  have  dimier  in  a  church -this 

8  J«  T,r'^  '**"''  f  *"  "'^  ^'°'°  ^  °f  Polnis, 

?S.^  .  \-*r'  '""^'  ^°"«  ^"'1«  '^"hed  and  gar- 
landed and  a  high  vaulted  roof  of  skylights  from  whTch 
W  b^kets  of  ferns  and  ropes  of  wisteria  vines  tJIt 

W?r  ."^  '''^"''  ''"°P*-  '^•'^  «»'  ^"  artificially 
heatc^  and  moistened  to  the  temperature  and  freshness 
ofthe  spnng,  and  the  music  of  an  orchestra  softly  cov- 

SgS.  *'  ''''*  °"  *^  *^"*^'  «''«''  ^f  tl-e 

anfvTml'  t"""^  '"*^^''^''^'  "^^'^'^^y  «^«-e 
tablee  and  its  quiet  multitude  of  guesta     "I  ish 


DURING  THE  WAR  agj 

they'd  turn  off  that  tap,"  the  father  growled  at  the 
V«W  fountain.  «AU  nonaenae.  Serve  a  dinner 
without  running  water." 

«  Now  Fath^,"  ahe  laughed,  "  endure  it  for  to-night. 
We  U  find  a  quieter  hotel  tomorrow  " 
him  '  S^''^,'^"'''^  f°'  the  waiter,  who  waa  behind 
Hun.  They  began  to  give  their  order.  "And  while 
we  re  waiting  for  it,"  she  aaid  to  her  father,  «  you  'II 
teU^utenant  Price  about  your  meeting  with  General 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  how  she  succeeded  in  giv- 
ttg  the  lieutenant  to  understand  _  by  the  mere  turn  of 
her  eye  that  her  father's  account  of  his  meeting  with 
General  Morgan  might  have  point  in  excusing  his  man- 
ner of  meeting  Lieutenant  Price. 

General  Morgan,"  he  said  gruffly. 

"  It  was  the  raider,"  she  explained  to  Price.     "  Gen- 
eral  Morgan  —  during  the  war." 
^'Oh?"    Price  waa  interested.     "Did  you  know 

TTsId^'"'  'Tlu^^  ^^  ^'  ^"'*^''  Charlton. 
Used  to  come  to  the  Burritt  House  in  Cincimiati  when 
I  was  telegraph  operator  there.  Huh!  I'm  one  of 
thejldest  telegraphers  in  this  country,  do  you  know 

Lieutenant  Price  knew  merely  that  he  was  the  vice- 
pi^ident  of  a  system  of  railroad  and  steamship  lines  that 

oceans  to  show  its  routes  -  and  that  he  was  the  father 


:.k 


828  DURING  THE  WAR 

of  a  young  woman  who  was  entirely  chann  W  The 
latter  fact  interested  Price  more  than  the  former.  He 
was  of  an  age  to  be  curious  about  the  father  because 
the  daughter  had  probably  inherited  from  him  some  of 
her  qualities  of  mind;  he  was  not  of  an  age  to  appr^ 
ciate  that  this  tremendous  hulk  of  a  man  had  one  of 
the  most  powerful  mental  equipments  in  the  world  of 
transportation." 

Price  had  not  yet  learned  the  limitations  of  his  own 
mtellect;  and  when  aman  still  believes  that  at  the  proper 
opportumty  he  will  prove  himself  another  Napoleon, 
he  IS  contemptuous  of  any  genius  that  is  not  transcend- 
ent. 

"I  learned  telegraphy  when  I  was  tMrteen,"  the 

.  father    said.     "I    was    a    conductor    wheri    was 

eighteen.     The  directors  picked  me  out  to  take  Shield's 

t^S'''^         ^  ^  ^*^'^*  ^^^  "^'^  ^  ^^ 
It  was  ^sting.    But  it  was  the  millionaire  modesfly 
boasting  of  the  poverty  of  his  youth. 

himself,    his  daughter  reminded  him. 

"  He  had  I  He  'd  been  destroying  houses  and  crops 
■-  and  tearmg  up  railroads  -  and  burning  bridges  and 
derailing  trams.  For  two  day8-/<,r  tu,o  Zys- 
there  had  n  t  been  a  train  out  of  Cincimiati.  NuisLe  ? 
The  whole  war  had  been  a  nuisance -drafting  every- 
body-upsetting  the  country -making  us  ran  our 
trains  from  Columbus  around  by  Xenia  and  Dayton 
so  aa  to  connect  at  the  '  Transfer '  for  the  South.    But 


DUEING  THE  WAR  828 

th^  Morgan-"    He  straightened  back  in  his  chair. 
Wlien  they  took  me  in  the  room  to  him  — » 
"But,  Father,"  she  interrupted,  "you  haven't  told 

us  how  you  came  to  be  there." 
He  put  the  things  away  from  him  to  clear  the  table- 

doA  before  W    «  Here,"  he  said  curtly.    «  Here 's 

iiere  s  Ohio.  Morgan  got  across  into  Indiana  on  the 
fJlceDean  and  raided  up  into  Ohio  and  got  around 
behmd  Cincimiati  and  cut  off  the  town.  Our  troops 
were  after  hm.,  or  he  'd  have  burned  Cincimiati  if  he 'd 

JT^■^?^?'  '"^'"^  ^  ««*  ^'^^  *°  the  river,  and 
we  believed  he'd  cross  the  C.  H.  &  D.  somewhe,^  be- 
tween Cincinnati  and  Dayton.  Shield's  Battery  was 
ordered  up  the  line  from  Cincinnati,  at  the  last  minute, 
to  help  mtereept  him,  and  when  the  train  was  made  up 
-  about  twenty  cars,  five  hundred  men,  guns  on  flat  cars 
-the  directors  called  me  in  and  asked  me  if  I  was 
afraid  to  take  it  out" 
^j;And  you  weren't,  of  course,"  the  lieutenant  said 

He  looked  up  with  a  flicker  of  amusement.    "  How 
old  are  you  ? " 

The  lieutenant  answered  calmly:     "  Twenty-six  " 
He  nodded -or  rather,  he  swayed  his  head.  *  He 
had  no  visible  neck;  the  weight  of  his  enormous  skull 
seemed  to  have  sunken  his  jaw  down  on  his  shoulders. 

red_.headed  —  if  you  know  what  that  means." 
The  lieutenant  considered  him.    He  was  gray  now. 


'  li 


L>i 


1(1 


«!■ 


324 


DURING  THE  WAB 


but  his  hair  was  touded  on  his  head  in  a  sort  of  humor- 
ous impatience  of  convention ;  his  gray  eyebrows  winged 
up  from  his  nose  fiercely;  his  mouth,  between  heavy 
wrinkles  was  hung  with  as  many  muscles  as  a  great 
Danes;  his  eyes  were  keen  blue  under  lids  that  sailed 
down  toward  their  outer  comers. 

a  butL"™*''"*"*  ^^  ^^"  ^"°*'°«  "^•"^«"  ^'t^™* 
He  went  on  again:     "All  Cincin::ati  was  down  in 
the  yards,  asking  questions  in  the  dark  and  crowdiuR 
on   the   tracks.     They  started  us  off  with  a  whoop 
shoutmg  to  us  as  we  pulled  out    We  put  on  steam  till 
we  got  clear  of  them.     Then  we  slowed  down  and 
crawled  up  the  track,  ten  miles  an  hour -as  quiet  as 
we  could  -no  headlight,  not  a  light  on  the  train.     It 
was  dark.    We  couldn't  see  at  aU,  and  it  didn't  take 
long  for  the  excitement  to  leak  away  and  leave  us  anx- 
ious    It  had  been  hot  in  town;  it  was  cooler  out 
on  the  line.     That  made  a  difference.    Felt  chiUy 

There  was  an  officer  of  some  sort  in  the  cab  -;th 
us   and  he  was  aU  on  edge  because  his  artilleiy  was 

and  if  Morgan  derailed  the  train  and  swooped  down  on 

ZZ  r  Ji'  '*  ^'^^  ?  three^iuarters  of  an  hour  to 
make  Carthage,  and  that  gentleman  was  fretting  all 
the  way,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him.  I  don't 
doubt  he  was  a  good  %ht6r.  Don't  doubt  it  But  this 
sort  of  thing  was  like  running  past  the  block  signals 
when  you  have  to  make  time  and  don't  know  whSier 
you  11  bump  into  the  train  ahead  or  not     It  'a  a  thing 


DURING  THE  WAE  896 

you  have  to  get  used  to.  And  mind  you,"  he  admon- 
ished the  lieutenant,  "  a  man  's  like  a  horse.  He  shies 
at  a  thing  that 's  new  to  him.  Don't  you  be  too  quick 
to  call  a  man  a  coward.  You  '11  probably  find  there 
are  some  things  he  's  a  mighty  sight  braver  about  than 
you  are.    I  've  learned  that. 

"Well,  we  got  to  Carthage.  Ed  Nash  was  agent 
there,  and  he  stopped  us  with  a  lantern  and  called  me 
in  to  the  telegraph  key.  'Come  in  here,'  he  said. 
'  Some  fool 's  asking  questions.  See  what  you  make 
of  it.' 

"  I  did  n't  make  anything  of  it,  at  first  —  except  that 
there  was  something  famiUar  about  the  '  send.'  It  was 
some  one  who  wanted  to  know  who  we  were.  We 
wanted  to  know  where  he  was.  And  we  kept  sparring 
with  him  till  suddenly  it  came  to  me  that  perhaps  it 
was  Ellsworth,  Morgan's  operator.  He  used  to  work 
on  our  line  once,  and  L  thought  I  recognized  his  way 
of  handling  the  key.  Telegraphers  w,  -e  scarce  in  those 
days.  And  the  artillery  oflScer  kept  asking :  '  What  is 
it?    What  is  it?' 

"I  said  to  him,  with  a  wink  at  Nash:  'It's  the 
man  at  Dayton.  The  line's  clear.  Get  aboard  and 
weT  go  aiead.'  And  when  we'd  got  rid  of  him,  I 
said  to  Nash:  ' He 's  tapped  our  wire.  Cut  him  off 
from  Cincinnati  so  he  won't  get  hold  of  any  messages. 
Wire  them  that  we  've  gone  ahead.' 

"  You  see,  I  figured  that  if  we  did  n't  want  to  meet 
MoiTgan,  it  was  just  as  likely  that  he  didn't  want  to 
meet  us  either.     If  he  had  wanted  to,  he  could  have 


886 


DURING  THE  WAR 


«»pl7  waited  for  „«.    The  fact  that  Ellaworth  tn^ 

t-pswe4XToS;'rdZ"'::''^-  «"- 

ably  on  ahead    wiU  tli^         f^    Ellsworth  was  prob- 

make  a  dash  for  Ha™;i*  ®  '^"^  ^***»ep  to 

w.e.ta.ttht;fro''^^^^^^  M.  orders 

with!tSL^°^ri;«°«--"PHcep„tin, 
thaitaS:-"'''"'^ '""•''-•     I -- in  charge  of 

a^,t^^  rthllft^'SrM^  ""^"^^  "^''^  -  *^« 
began  to  loot  n~»  "^cn  *<>  as  he  went  along.  It 
spSfl'SLSd^Z'*'"^  Wecouldn'fn.ake 
feel  our  way  S  ^  ^?  ?  ^''^  *"«''*  '"^e  l«d  to 
you  knewTu'd  LLd?bur:?  "/"'  --'"Where 
whether  he  was  wSL  t?  ''"Tf^'^  '^''^'''t  know 
-aking  off  do:^Z^ai  ^J^f  "  """^^'-'^  - 
when  .ou  feel  ehil,,  abolt^l  I^^  ""  "^  '^'^  "^«^* 

-aS^IdTot^SS^'^^^ 

bM  tb.t  did  n't  hdp  „v     T  k!l'      ,      "  •'""'■'  - 


DUBING  THE  WAB  827 

just  north  of  Glendale,  we  ran  by  a  half-down  men  on 

horseback,  standing  as  close  to  the  rails  as  they  dared 

to  get;  and  it  was  so  dark  we  could  scarcely  see  more 

than  the  whites  of  their  faces,  but  they  let  us  pass 

without  a  word,  just  leaning  over  in  the  saddle  to  peer 

into  the  cars.     And  I  says  to  myself :    'Now  who  was 

^at<    Any  of  our  own  men  would  have  hailed  us. 

ramers  would  n't  crowd  up  to  look  at  a  train  that  way.' 

And  I  said  to  the  engineer:     '  let  her  out,  Bob.     Let 
her  go.' 

"He  did  it  And  I  was  right.  It  was  Morgan's  men 
-the  first  of  them  — and  the  test  was  clear  track  to 
Hamilton.  We  just  got  through  by  that."  And  he 
Held  up  two  thick  fingers. 

The  lieutenant  nodded.  The  daughter  was  watching 
him  thoughtfully.  ° 

"  f  \^«!;«  °''  «ire  °f  it  tm  we  got  to  Hamilton  and 
heard  that  Morgan  was  south  of  us,  making  for  Glen- 
dale;  and  when  I  went  to  the  despateher's  room  to  tele- 
graph Nash  that  we'd  arrived  safe,  I  found  the  wires 
cut. 

"  So  "  Price  said,  "you  did  n't  meet  Morgan  on  that 
tnp,  after  all."  ^ 

"Did n't,  eh?  Huht  My  orders  were  to  report  to 
Czncimiati  that  I  had  arrived  at  Hamilton.  I  got  a 
hand-car  and  a  couple  of  men  mi  began  to  pump  back 
to  Carthage.  Before  we  got  to  Ellison's  we  slowed 
doTO  and  listened,  and  we  could  hear  the  horses'  hoofs 
scuffling  and  pounding  across  the  planking  between  the 
rails  at  the  crossing.     We  left  the  hand-car  there,  and 


mi. 


338 


DURING  THE  WAR 


climbed  the  bank  into  the  woods  and  onpt  along  to 
where  we  could  «ee  the  road.  It  was  ju.t  about  dawn 
—  l«ht  enough  to  see  them  dragging  along,  half  asleep 
in  their  saddles  —  so  much  steam  rising  from  the  horses 
you  could  scarcely  see  the  riders.  Tired.  It  had  been 
a  red-hot  day.  They  were  riding  in  undershirts  and 
trousers  -and  they  looked  less  like  glorious  war  and 
heroic  warriors  than  anything  you  ever  saw  in  a  book 
of  battles  — like  a  procession  of  tin-peddlers,  the  way 
their  sabers  rattled." 

He  made  a  gesture,  dianissing  the  picture.  «  My 
orders  were  to  report  t»  Cincinnati.  I  had  fooled  that 
crowd  of  corn-crackers  once,  and  I  thought  I  'd  try  it 
again.  They  were  trailing  along,  with  gaps  between 
them,  and  nobody  was  paying  any  attention  to  any- 
thing he  passed,  apparently;  and  I  thought  if  I  could 
come  down  on  them  full  sweep  in  the  hand-oar,  if  I 
did  n  t  strike  on  one  of  the  gaps,  I  'd  probably  scare  the 
howes  into  opening  up  to  let  me  through  -  do  yon  see  f 
A  hand-car  can  make  quite  a  noise,  rattling  down  on 
you  that^y.  I  thought  we  could  help  it  with  a  yell 
at  the  right  minute.  The  only  thing  was:  had  they 
torn  up  the  track  ?  ^ 

"To  find  that  out,  I  had  to  turn  off  through  the 
woods  as  near  as  possible  to  the  crossing,  to  look  at 
the  rails.  I  was  careless,  maybe.  Anyway  I  ran  head 
on  into  a  squad  .>f  men  lying  down  under  the  trees. 
They  grabbed  ma  I  knocked  two  or  three  of  them 
over  before  some  one  struck  me  a  crack  on  the  head 
with  the  butt  of  a  carbine: 


DURING  THE  WAR  82» 

"They  were  with  Ellsworth  —  waiting  there  with 
hw  key  for  any  messages  that  might  oome  along  from 
Cincinnati.  He  knew  me.  They 'd  have  known  I  waa 
a  conductor,  anyway,  by  the  silver  badge  on  my  cap. 
Didnt  wear  unifonn  -  those  days -train  men. 
And  they  wanted  to  know  where  our  troops  were  — 
where  I  had  left  my  train.  And  I  told  them  they  could 
ail  go  — " 

He  checked  himself,  hoisted  himself  in  his  chair,  and 
put  his  clenched  hand  on  the  tabl^top,  menacingly 
I  was  mad.  I-  In  those  days  I  had  a  bad 
tmper.  And  I  guess  Ellsworth  knew  it.  I  told  him 
what  I  thought  of  him.  When  they  could  n't  get  any- 
thing out  of  me,  I  heard  him  say:  '  Take  him  to  the 
General.  That '11  give  him  time  to  cool  o£F.'  So  they 
hoist^  me  on  a  broken-legged  plow-horse  and  started 
me  off  to  Harris's  stock  farm,  where  Morgan  and  his 
staff  were  having  breakfast 

"It  gave  me  time  to  cool  off,  all  right,  but  I  did  n't 
et  th^  see  it  I  saw  I  'd  have  to  bluff  it  out  and  I 
kept  cursing  and  abusing  them  all  the  way.  They 
were  too  dog^tired  and  sleepy  to  resent  it  They  were 
w  tired  they  talked  as  thick  as  if  they  were  drunk." 
He  pointed  his  finger  at  the  lieutenant  "  You  can  do 
anything  you  like  with  a  tired  man.  Remember  that. 
All  the  mistakes  I  ever  made  in  my  life  I  made  when 
I  was  tired.  And  I  said  to  myself :  '  If  Morgan 's  as 
done  out  as  the  rest  of  them,  I  can  bluff  it  through.  I 
can  bluff  it  through.' 

"Besides,  I  never  did  have  much  respect  for  sol- 


K 


S30 


DURING  THE  WAR 


diers  —  account  of  their  dothea.  'No  need  for  a  man 
to  drew  himaelf  up  like  a  performing  monkey.  Cursed 
nonsense. 

"  Morgan  had  stopped  for  breakfast  at  Harris's  —  a 
big  house —  big  farm.  Harris  had  always  talked  as  if 
he  could  eat  a  rebel  a  day  and  still  thirst  for  blood,  but 
when  I  got  into  the  dining-room,  Harris  was  waiting 
on  the  table  himself,  as  willing  as  a  nigger.  I  recog- 
nized Morgan  —  I  'd  seen  him  at  the  hotel  —  and  I 
just  stood  there  glaring  at  him,  while  they  explained 
who  I  was.  I  could  hear  Harris  cracking  his  finger- 
joints  behind  him,  with  nervousness,  while  he  listened. 
And  when  Morgan  looked  at  me,  I  looked  at  him  under 
my  eyebrows,  with  my  head  down,  and  I  said ;  '  Mor- 
gan, I  helped  your  brother  — '  " 

"Oh,  dearl"  his  daughter  interrupted.  "You 
have  n't  told  the  lieutenant  about  that." 

"  Well,"  he  interpolated  briefly,  "  Charlton  Morgan 
had  been  sent  up  to  Camp  Chase  on  my  train  with  a 
carload  of  other  prisoners  about  a  year  or  so  before, 
and  he  recognized  me  going  through  the  car  with  my 
lantern,  and  I  promised  to  get  word  to  his  family  that 
he  was  n't  killed,  and  go  out  to  Camp  Chase  to  see  him 
—  and  took  him  tobacco.  And  when  he  was  ex- 
chang  \  I  lent  him  money  and  took  a  signet  ring  from 
him.  '  And  dam  your  eyes,'  I  said  to  Morgan,  '  this  's 
the  thanks  I  get  If  you  want  to  fight,  why  don't  you 
stay  where  there  are  soldiers  to  fight  with?  Coming 
around  here  burning  private  property  —  assaulting 
private  citizens.    You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 


DUBING  THE  WAB  881 

WK  ^n^'\^  "''''  '■^°"  ****  *^»*  "°8  back  to  your 
broUu,r  Charlton,  and  tell  him  if  he ',  ever  penn  J  „p 

«  Camp  Chaw  again  and  I  go  there  to  «h,  him,  it  '11 

be  to  see  him  hanged.'  " 
The  lieutenant  waa  grinning.     "  It  was  a  wonder  h- 

<Ua  n't  have  you  shot" 

"  Youn^  man,"  he  said  grimly;  « it  would  be  a  bii^ 
ger  man  than  John  Morgan  that  'd  have  the  nerve  to 
have  me  shot,  at  any  stage  of  the  game.  He  took  the 
nng  from  the  officer  who  picked  it  up,  and  he  looked 
at  the  seal  on  it.  and  then  he  said:  ' Send  him  back 
to  hi.  railroad  m  charge  of  some  one.'    He  said  it  in 

wTtJ.?^.  "  "''^.^^°  ^'^''''  ^'^'  ^  ^  tottered 
with  anything  as  unimportant  as  I  was,  and  that  stuck 
in  my  crop-but  I  swallowed  it-and  I  remembered 

fW^'"'^,!''*^  "V"^"^  "^  °"*  ^  ^«"^  tim  tell  Harris 
th^  d  exchange  horses  with  him;  and  Harris  said: 
Wnh  peasure.  General.  With  pleasure '- though 
be  knew  it  meant  leaving  him  a  lot  of  broken  nags  fn 
exchange  for  a  stable  of  the  finest  horses  in  Ohio  He 
neve^r  held  up  his  head  afterward  -  Harris.     He  died 

T.,lT^"'7t  ^^  ^"^^  *°  *^^  ^'«^-«"'  the  raid  had 
passed,  and  the  two  soldiers  asked  me,  if  they  surren- 
der,, .ou^d  I  take  them  back  to  Cindnnati  Ld  Jve 
them  something  to  eat.  They  fell  asleep  on  the  far. 
I  had  to  pump  the  whole  load  myself.     But  I  got  back 


!  ii| 


882 


DURING  THE  WAR 


to  Cincinnati  with  two  priionew,"  he  ended  trium- 
phantly, "  and  reported  my  train." 

"  Well,"  the  lieutenant  said,  in  a  voice  of  amused 
admiration  of  that  domineering  personality,  "you 
would  have  made  a  great  — " 

"Here,"  he  interrupted.  "Here's  the  ring.  I 
kept  it  as  a  souvenir." 

He  drew  it  from  hig  finger  and  passed  it  across  the 
table.  It  wag  a  heavy  ring  of  soft  gold,  and  the  shield 
on  which  the  seal  had  once  been  graven  was  now  worn 
smooth.    "  Had  to  have  it  let  out  twice,"  he  said. 

The  lieutenant  turned  it  over.  "  But,"  he  said,  "  I 
thought  —  I  understood  you  to  say  that  General  Mor- 
gan kept  it." 

"  So  he  did.  I  '11  tell  you.  Wait  till  I  have  some 
soup." 

He  ate  with  gusto.  "Been  at  board  meetings  — 
panic  conferences  —  all  day.  Hungry  ag  if  I  'd  been 
at  work." 

The  daughter  chatted  with  the  lieutenant  till  her 
father  put  down  his  spoon.  Then  she  turned  to  him 
expectantly. 

He  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  ring.  "Morgan 
was  captured.  Too  important  a  prisoner  to  keep  in 
Camp  Chase,  so  they  shut  him  up  in  the  penitentiaiy 
in  Columbus.  It  was  about  three  blocks  from  the  rail- 
road station.    We  used  to  run  right  under  its  walls. 

"One  night  — one  o'clock  — four  cattle  drovers  in 
long  overcoats,  with  drovers'  gads  — hickory  poles,  six 
or  seven  feet  long,  about  an  inch  thick  — they  used 


DURING  THE  WAR  333 

them  to  prod  up  ctUe-    Four  of  them  got  aboard 
I  nouced  they  did  n't  get  on  tiU  they  «w  me  on  .f S 
^.jn  .t^;  and  then  I  noticed  that  they  ;;;: 
together  in  two  aeat*.  instead  of  each  man  sprawlinit 

^^r    '^  P*"*  t^""'  f°"'  dollars  each. 

w«      ,' ""'t  '"^  suspicions    I  'd  heard  the  company 

WM  putting  detectives  on  the  cars -' spotters '-aS 

tra^n   T^S  ™^.  ""^  "'''"'  *^'  ^  ^  «^"  ««^  ""^  on  my 

It^;.  .J  "  ""^  ""'«""'•'"■•     T''^  ""^  I  looked 

«t  those  men  the  more  sure  I  was  they  were  detecti-.r 
I  spent  most  of  the  trip  to  Dayton  tuLng  ove  t  r^ 
mind^.^hoUetterlwasgoingtowritewInlturni 
"  We  got  to  Dayton  about  three-thirty.    We  were  to 

the  engine  off  the  track,  down  the  yards.  These  fC 
fdlow.  were  in  the  restaurant  with  me  -  Th^'s  an- 
other thing  drovers  wouldn't  do.  They'd  wait  for 
their  breakfast,  till  they  got  to  Cindnnatf-  aid  wht 

with  me  to  help  get  her  back  on  the  rails.    '  Well '  I 
^d  to  my.lf,  <  you  lads  are  certainly  anxious  to  ge 

teL^         ;L.'  ""^  "  ''■"'''  P"^^^'''  ''"*  between 
^.ng  hurried  because  we  were  going  to  be  so  late  that 

we  d  miss  connections  at  the  '  Transfer '_  and  angry' 

because  the  old  man  had  put  'spotters'  on  me!! I 


j^ 


Ml 


1 1! 


ft 


334 


DURING  THE  WAR 


didn't  look  at  them  right  And  then  one  of  them 
dropped  his  slouch  hat  I  was  standing  by  with  the 
lantern,  and  I  saw  him.  He  had  shaved  oflf  his  beard, 
but  I  knew  his  eyes.  I  have  a  good  manoiy  for  faces. 
Conductors  soon  develop  that 
"It  was  John  Morgan. 

"  He  grabbed  up  the  hat  again,  and  went  on  with  his 
work,  and  I  edged  up  to  see  his  hands  —  to  make  sure. 
He  had  that  ring  on,  with  the  seal  turned  in. 

''  Well,  we  got  the  engine  on,  and  went  back  to  the 
train,  and  I  did  n't  say  anything  but  just  thought  it 
over.  As  I  was  going  through  their  car,  one  of  them 
asked  me  if  we  would  stop  at  the  '  Transfer.'  And  I 
said :  '  No '—  that  we  'd  missed  connections  and  we  'd 
go  right  into  Cincinnati.  And  then  I  remembered  the 
way  I  'd  been  dragged  before  John  Morgan  as  if  he 
were  the  biggest  man  on  earth  — and  the  way  he'd 
said:  'Take  him  back  to  his  railroad '— and  I 
thought  I  'd  give  him  a  taste  of  that  sort  of  thing  him- 
self. So  I  said:  'If  you're  afraid  to  face  Cincin- 
nati, you  can  jump  when  we  slow  down  for  the  curve 
at  the  "Transfer."'  One  of  them  said:  'What  do 
you  mean  V  It  was  either  Captain  Hines  or  General 
Basil  Duke  — I  never  knew  which.  I  looked  him  up 
and  down.  'You  know  what  I  mean,  dam  well,'  I 
said,  and  I  turned  to  Morgan  and  I  said:  '  Now,  Mor- 
gan, give  me  back  my  ring.' 

"  One  of  the  men  did  n't  move  —  just  sat  there  with 
his  hat  down  over  his  eyes  as  if  he  thought  that  if  he 
kept  quiet  no  one  would  notice  him.    Duke  —  or  Hines 


DURING  THE  WAR 


335 

remembered  me;  "^  *""^  ^"'K"^  ^<^ 

s<^^f^' w!'^\lr' 'f '-'''' out  u>  rne.    I 

u^de^tan^LLd  fleft  C  '^^  ^  -^^^^'  <^°  ^- 

<«  *.  rtik  ih».»  ^     ° '  '""■"  "'"  I  ™  ipm 

^'iX'zr'ur^"  '"^K '  '"^  ■"- 
-».  .1  hZ  it^r^ritr.-  •" 

The  daughter  added:    "Exceot  tW  T  „     u        • 


336 


DURING  THE  WAR 


"  Soldier  f  I  \  i  seen  a  good  many  great  soldi^  — 
and  I  only  saw  one  man  in  the  whole  war  that  I  'd  take 
off  my  hat  to,  now." 

"  Who  was  that  ?    General  Grant  ?  " 
"Abraham  Lincoln."    He  leaned  forward  impress- 
ively.    "All  the  generals  that  ever  lived  didn't  come 
knee-lugh  to  him.     I  wasn't  old  enough  to  appreciate 
him  then.     I  don't  know  whether  I  ever  wiU  be  old 
enough  to  appreciate  him  all    But  I  tell  you,  young 
man,  if  you  want  to  see  war  as  it  is,  learn  to  see  it  the 
Tray  Ae  saw  it  —  if  you  ever  can.    We  were  like  a  lot 
^   quarreling   children   beside   him.    War!    Glory? 
Heroism?    If  you  want  to  know  about  what  they 
ainoimt  to,  get  a  good  war-time  photograph  of  Lincoln 
and  look  into  his  eyes.     Into  his  eyes!"    His  lips 
quivered    with    some    unacknowledged    emotion.    He 
looked  down  at  his  plate. 
"Now,    Daddy,"    his    daughter    put    in    quickly. 
yon  ve  talked  enough.     Eat  your  dinner.     I  'U  en- 
tertain the  lieutenant." 

Price  turned  to  her,  flattered.  When  she  looked  at 
him  it  was  rather  absent-mindedly.  There  was  an  un- 
guarded  expression  of  appraisal  in  her  eyes.  As  a 
plebe  at  West  Point  he  had  noticed  something  of  the 
Mme  look  in  another  girl -when  she  first  saw  him 
out  of  his  cadet  uniform. 

He  puzded  over  it  Before  they  rose  from  the 
table  he  knew  what  it  meant  He  showed  the  knowl- 
edge in  the  stiffer  set  of  Us  shoulders  and  the  more 
determined  poise  of  his  chin  as  he  foUowed  her  out 


DDBING  THE  WAR 


337 
of  the  dining-room.    She  said  Kood  niaJ,*  ♦«  v.- 
^  door  of  the  elevator,  and  shf^dTw,^  '* 
her  anxiety  for  hnr  /»«,«       i.  nastily  — m 

depre,«o7^d  tif;^'^\r  ^"^  «^  ^t 
roused  himself  to  *r  1  ^    ^     •*""  ''"^*-    ^e 

night"  •  ^""^    nuisance.    Good- 


IN  LOVEKS'  MEETINa 


'  f 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 
"Journeys  end  in  Were'  meeting." 

1    the  day  had  come  nimbly  -  clean,   ruddy,   and 

ftrbtti!  of  .  ^"^  '''"■'°«  ^''"*  **■«  -j"-^  -iti* 

leaflet    and  .i'  *^f  '^""^  °"*  '^^  *"ft«  "f  gl"*! 
eaflete,  and  tossed  and  dried  the  wet  grasses.     The 

sunshine  was  as  yellow  as  the  season's  daS     The 

wi:rt:tn-rrrs5°--:?^^ 

h,7    iS    ^^'T  ***  «^  "  ^''"'^'^y  ^"^Wng,  and  she 
Ld  :S  *^  r'-*'^  r^-     T'-^  --tureTf  the  2 

Ton  her  )!'  '*'"*  "'  ^"^'^^  ""^  ^^^  ^-  --- 

^_^  turned   aside   to   the  path   that   entered   the 

piS^e^K  ".?  "^  ^T  *^^'^  ""  »  ™^*-  »'-«'',  drop- 
ping her  bundle  on  the  seat  beside  her,  and  claspi.^ 
her  hands  over  the  ragged  fringe  of  her  shaJl  Ilf 
she  were  chnging  to  the  strength  in  her  gnarled  L1^ 
She  blinked  under  her  bot.T.o+       .  •       nngers. 

faded  fm„  M    w  T   *~™«*  — 8  mourning  bonnet,  , 
faded  from  bl«A  to  dustygreen  -  that  did  not  shade 


■III 


342 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


JlTtZi'^^    ®h  -^""^  P'''«"y  °W  «  the  midst  of 
all  that  glow  and  lurtinew  of  yonnir  life. 

watSV'  *^  ^'''^  ""  «  «1"'"«1  *at  had 
watched  her  coming;  and  it  began  to  approach  her 
now,  through  the  graa.,  with  quick  maheaLd^uddS 

place*  on  her  face  m  an  e^resdon  of  motherly  good- 
nature Jat  took  wonderfully  from  her  ye«r«.  It*^ 
a  face  that  had  not  soured  with  age-thaTwas  sTS 

^  JkLT'"*!  r*  "P  •*"  *^  '«'<Je'-  of  the  walk  and 
watehedherwiththeeyeeofarat    She  clucW  to  1 

cotcr^ir^  t^shikVwith^ii:  ^v^ 

«.?,  ''*'^,5°'^««'  "  ya'd  on  the  walk,  and  hesitated 
T!  t!   f  ?*  '  ^'""'"^  ^<J  »t  her  knee.     -E 

"  Purty,  pnrty,»'  she  ciwned.     « 'T  's  hnnar,  ;♦  • 
^^.  aw  .ear."    Her  voice  had  a  Je^E^  J 
tone,  neither  cracked  nor  pkintive    «  sof/rTTr 
ceni,  without  the  breadth  of\  bro^'e         ^*  '"^^  ""^ 

croucSeTttld °"  *"  *•"'='  ^"^  '^^^'"''''  ^-<1-    It 
crouched  turned  on  a  spnng,  and  scurried  back  to  the 

grass.     She  looked  up  to  see  a  man  approaching 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


848 

hiie  studied  him  with  a  puckered  «»     xr 

and   color    in    t,;.    *        j     ,     *^  "^ '  '"*'*  ^**  blood 
toior,    in   ius   tanned   chnnta    ;«    Vii.i 

'^eins  in  the  skin  '    ""   ''"'^   «""■'«>* 

"■"*  ■'•»'«»M»  -  ft.  .,„i,^"  XX  I'll; 


I! 


j|.x  -   n  1 


li^: 


**♦  IN  lOTERS'  MEETING 

ground  full  o'  rat-hole.."  ha  «pl.u.ed,  «  «'  tW  y„ 
She  did  not  awwer;  .ad  he  ^turned  to  the  MuirwL 

nearer.    He  towed  ,t  the  nut,  and  it  ran  btuik  to  tJ.« 
«ra«topeel«,deatitthew.  °  » 'wbwk  to  the 

"Were  y'  ever  out  West,  ma'am?"  he  asked  h«r 
ahoving  back  into  the  .eat  ' 

in^Noo  York,  an'  mver  .  foot  have  I  put  out  'f  it 

t„l^"*^  ^""f-"   ^  ""^^     "W«".    well.  .  .  .  The 
town  '8  changed  since  then,  ma'am."  •  •  •  -^^e 

She  nodded  and  nodded,  compressing  her  lips  in  an 

'T^z:  Z'"'t  ^.J""^  -^CnHr 

«.t^'     ^'  Tl'    "^  "'f^^'  ««1  tl«>  thought  of  the 
past  loosened  her  face  in  a  pathetic  droop  of  mou^ 

Sh-T/  ^^u^"'^  '^^'^^'  °'»''^"  J«  Mid. 
She  did  not  hear  him.     "Aw   m-^  „,„»    u 

on.     "  Whin  I  think  'f  Tt  _ oTZ'r^a  fK-'^  "^^ 
nuAin'  *^  J-.      .      f  "of  a  Snnda',  whin  there's 

^ne.       She  shook  her  head  sorrowfully  from  side  to 

I'  It 's  a  long  time,"  he  said. 
"Ain't  it  now?    Alonstimfil    TK**^ 
«n<«  I  come  over  in  ^ TaUy^nSLT  -'"l 

were  thrown  in  the  sea,  without  so  much  as  putdn' 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


|him  in  .  chi,i.  An'  there  I  wm  „„„•„.  . 
I  '-a.  that  «ok;  an'  thinki,'  Jw  ^  "  •^**  *»»*' 
"Mt.  An'  here  I  «n  S  ^  """"'•  ^  'd  be  the 
yet"  '"''  ^^  yet,  Praiie  God-livin' 

"We  were  young  then,  ma'am." 

»oS:t^1;rn't"?  Si  r-'-^^n  change  of 

-"in  they  cried.  tLk  &uJlT^  '°  ^-  York. 
»ow.    An' if w.  Elliott -.TLiT'    ?^'"'y  *oJ  me  <*«<, 

woon.e  'n  the  child  I    An'  II-     t     ''*y»-«e  cr^n' 

At  the  mention  of  Mrs  Pin^**  *l 
i«-.  «.  if  Wa  head  w«I  ;f      ^^  ^^  '^'^  ^^  t"«ed  to 
dmnmy,  withouTlX  Jis  l',?'  "  ''-"'•'^-'t's 
her,  wooden-faced.       ^        '^<»ddeTB.    He  stared  at 

"  I  was  the  green  one,"  she  said      «  t 
from  the  fani^s  o'  Coua  y  cLlT'  ,.       '*"'^  **'"«J't 
brought  «p  in  innocent  W^l"7  *^'  *^'^  -" 

-iancin'  of  a  Sunda'  in^J  ban.T!i1,  ''"*''''  '"'*  « 
no  theayter  — n„thin'-nn*^^™  ^'^**  ^"^ — 

all  dependin'  to  S-  ,,^^,f  |*  "Jj^     The  folk  was 
mm.     "I  mind  whin  1.1    rt^^^^a"  *<>  chuckle 
.nthRose-theywa;Ldi?"'       ^"'*^«"'^  Street, 
in  thim  days  - 1  aa^  LrT  '^'^  ""  ^hurteenth  Stree 
all  poor  here,'  I  ,!^  ^.^',   ^-^'  ^  "^ys, '  they  're    - 

I  -ay., '  on'y'what Xy  h^t  f  1"^? ^'  '''*«  ^  -P-' 
J-    "ys.      An  Rose  says:    'Don't 


i  ,'1 ' 

If, 


it 
if 


846 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


be  taUcin'  tieh  nontiiue,'  the  say*.     Thim  very  word*  I 
'  Don't  be  ialkin'  tick  nontinse,'  she  Mya." 

He  leaned  down  again  to  hold  a  peanut  to  the 
•quirrel.  "  Mre.  Elliott  I "  he  asked  thickly.  «  Where 
did  «Ae  live!" 

"  On  Tinth  Street,  to  be  mirai  An'  she  'd  riven  to 
help.  'T  waa  a  lov'ly  place,  an'  a  fine  fam'ly  —  an' 
good  frinda  they  was  to  me.  The  hand  o'  Gtod  waa  with 
me  whin  I  wint  there." 

He  aaid :     "  Did  y*  ever  know  Jim  Farrell !  " 
Her  hand,  on  the  bundle  of  washing  on  her  knee, 
twitched  and  trembled  with  a  sudden  leap  of  her  heart. 
"  Indeed,  indeed,"  she  said,  "  he  was  keepin'  oomp'ny 
with  me  whin  he  'listed." 

He  dropped  his  head,  as  if  shielding  himself  from 
her  eyes  behind  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders. 
"  Did  yeh  know  'm  ? "  she  asked  in  a  quaver. 
He  did  not  answer  for.  a  moment  Then  he  said 
huskily:  "  He  was  in  th'  Excelsior  Brigade  with  me. 
I  jus'  ust  to  hear  him  talkin'  about  a  girl  at  Mrs. 
Elliott's." 

The  squirrel  darted  away  to  safety  with  another  nut, 
but  the  man  did  not  rise  from  his  stooping  posture. 
As  for  Mrs.  Dolan,  she  was  gazing,  with  trembling  lips, 
at  the  shimmer  of  sun  among  the  trees.  "  What  be- 
come of  'm,  sur  ? "  she  whispered. 

"  He  was  killed,"  he  said.     «  At  Gettysburg." 
Two  great  tears  trickled  down  her  old  nose.     She 
wiped  them  off  with  the  comer  of  her  shawl.     "  God 
rest  his  soul,"  she  said.     «  We  was  to  be  married  whin 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


847 

tyr?J:t  ;  •  •  ^,'""'  ■''"«•   !«•  -«••     Poor 
heard  word  of  'm.  l.vin'  „er  dead."     Sho  wiped  her 

M^'^iT'lrtf '■  '        -'.neatly  booted. 

■I  went  with  thi      .v  'en   j/t.,,  .1,         t  ■  .     . 

^    di'iT   t,ti4  ,      |]p  oxnlainRfl 

w  '•  "it""'  "■"'"■'-  '•  '    ^"-^^^  ^ 

again  when  my  teru.soxr.rof I  got  my  discharge 

now,  an'  my  pension."  «-"argB 

'c!Jdv7"*'T,  'T^^'^   "''■'■      "^'"   -'   to  call   'm 

dor1{  f"°'      '••"  "'•'^'  ?••*'"«  «t  the  soiled  table- 
cloth that  wrapped  her  bundle.     '< '  Candy  Jim' 

L^So?"?'""".  '^^"'"•'"-     I' '-f-- afar  off 
tiJat  God  Binds  sometimes.  .  .  .  D'veh  m^J  ».       u 
waskiUed?"  1^  .yeh  mind  how  he 

rilof?  "^^   .  ^°  *^  '"""'•"     He  took  a 

and  helped  himself  hurriedly  to  a  mouthful  of  it  ' 

ridin^LT  *  ""^^  ^"^'"  '^'  "''^-     "W«  »«t  to  go 
to  the  Battr^    ...  He  was  free  of  his  money.     An' 

ImarnedTim-reathissonl!     Tim  an' five  chil- 
dren, I  buned  thim  all."    She  fell  back  into  sil"! 


348 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


"  Did  he  leave  yuh  money  ? "  he  aaked  suddenly 
"Nuthin',"  she  said,  "nuthin',"  with  a  bittemew 
which  he  did  not  ask  an  explanation  of.     "I  been 
washin'  iver  since.     These  thurty  years  I  been  bendia' 
over  tubs.     Thurty  years  I  " 

"  P'raps  yuh  put  somethin'  by  ? "  he  insinuated. 
"  Niver  a  cint,"  she  said.  « I  'd  John's  children  to 
raise  whm  m'  own  was  gone.  An'  that  came  terrible 
hard  on  me,  terrible  hard.  Poor  gurls,  I  didn't  be- 
grudge thim  the  worL  I  edacated  thim  so 's  they  both 
got  good  men.  An'  they  slnds  me  a  dollar  now  an' 
liun,  God  bless  thim.  They  ain't  rich— not  thim. 
They  'd  hilp  their  ol'  aunt  if  they  was." 

He  turned  the  fine^ut  in  his  cheek,  staring  across 
the  sunlight  under  eyelids  that  had  tinkled  in  the 
glare  of  alkali  deserts. 

"'T  was  easy  enough,  easy  enough,  thim  times,"  she 
said.     "  But  now  I  ain't  got  th'  ambition  to  take  heavy 
pieces,  an'  my  sight's  bad.     I  don't  get  the  clothes 
cleaned  no  more." 
He  did  not  speak. 

"Well,    well,"    she    concluded.     "What    matter? 

Sure,  what  matter?"  and  twisted  her  hand  in  her 

bundle.     "  Good-day,  sur,"     She  got  slowly  to  her  feet. 

He  reached  a  hand  to  her  arm,  and  stood  beside  her. 

I  '11  carry  that,"  he  said  grufly. 

The  unexpected  kindness  flustered  her.     "  Not  a  bit 

of  it,"  she  protested,  as  he  took  the  bundle  from  her. 

There 's  no  need,  man.    'T  is  no  weight  at  all 
Well,  well;  thank  yeh,  sur.     The  kindness  o'  gome 


IN  LOVEES'  MEETING 


349 

PJopW'  Her  faoeut  with  ple«„^.  «Tlumk,eh 
8ur.  It's  a  touch  o'  the  snn  I  had."  ShTT  ^  j 
al^hssidehi.    "I'lH^aUH^h^ttheier^ 

iJofth:t«S.1^,?f:-    J^  old  soldier  had  noth. 

-St  have  i  hlTonht  n"'  ^^r'^""^  '""' 
Bolan,  ahnost  his  equalTn  hi.?  ""  '"^  "^  ^'^ 
fandn^other.  ..nfflSTn  W^l  tla'f  "^  "*""*  J"*'^ 
her  knees,  and  in  a  skirt  rt.fj^  that  came  nearly  to 
She  talked  in^Tti*      ^'  '"^  '^''^'^  ^^  hc«ls. 

there  was  no  one  in  t^  dtvM  fl  ^  ^*""  ^''•'*^' 
«plied  with  tales  o"J:il*:57-?f,!--  ^'^ 
ticularly  of  those  wh.  hadTeTJhfr  5  ""*  ^''  P"" 
months  when  she  hi  1  ivT      •  ,.       '^""°«  *he  winter 

>-;  .nd  b.  .CSS     1 1'""  T',"'  *"  "" 


U 


k 


350 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


dowless  bedroom,  as  large  as  a  clothes-closet,  opened  off 
it;  and  lie  could  see  the  white  coverlet  of  the  bed  in  the 
shadows,  and  a  spray  of  chuidi  palm  on  the  wall  above 
the  pillow. 

He  sat  down,  in  silence,  on  a  chair  with  a  perforated 
scat  that  had  blistered  and  peeled  with  age:  She  set  to 
work  to  light  a  fire  in  the  msty  kitchen  stove,  pottering 
about  busily,  chatting  with  a  voluble  hospitality,  show- 
ing him  the  brown  photographs  which  she  kept  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  and  apologizing  for  the  disorder  in  which 
he  found  the  room,  with  its  tubs  and  ita  boilers. 

He  looked  at  the  plaster  on  the  wall,  cracked  and 
yellowed  with  steam.  Once  or  twice  he  coughed,  as  if 
he  were  about  to  speak,  but  she  did  not  wait  for  him. 

Finally  —  when  she  had  turned  her  back  to  put  a 
pinch  of  tea  in  the  little  brown  teapot  —  he  said :  "  If 
old  Farrell  was  alive — " 

She  turned  on  him.  "  Sure,  man,"  she  said,  "  he 
died  in  Ireland  — " 

He  caught  at  his  hat  as  it  fell  from  the  table.  "  I 
meant  Jim  —  Jim  FarreU."  He  was  red.  "We 
called  him  '  old  '  FarreU." 

"  Name  of  Heaven,  why  ?  "  she  cried.  "  He  was  n't 
but  twintyl"  He  shook  his  head.  Mk«  laughed  at 
him.  "An'  if  he  was  livin'  this  day,"  she  said, 
"  what  'd  he  be  to  me  ? " 
"  He  'd  have  his  pension.  A  dollar  a  day  an'  more." 
"An'  it's  needin'  it  he'd  be,"  she  replied.  "He 
was  near's  old  as  mesilf."  She  poured  water  in  the 
teapot  and  set  it  on  the  steaming  kettle. 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING  351 

.  I, "  ^^[\^^^  '">  relations,"  he  said.     "  He  'd  want 
a  home  of  his  own." 

"  Poor  boy,"  Bhe  sighed  tremulously.     «  He 's  home 
thMmanyaday.     Let  bygones  be." 

mlSy.  '^^  ^  "^^  ^^  *"  •^'  ""'''""'"  ^«  '"«!«"«1 
She  felt  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes.     "Well 

welV'  she  chafed      "  I  been  gettin'  on  her'e  alone  thS 

thurty  years.     Please  God,  I '11  finish  it  so  " 
He  eat  with  his  eyes  on  the  kettle,  and  said  nothing 

Sm  Ah  if  1r  *""  '*°°""^''"'  ""?«  "^d  saucer! 

tS   '^wm"  *Jr™"u.""*  ^'"^  *^«"  ^'^  *!"«  little 

i-  18  all  I  have  to  Mt  before  yeh." 

He  aodded. 

She  ran  doB^  with  «,  explanation  that  bread  and 
te.  was  all  sh»  ,te  W«If ;  „eat  was  too  tough  for  her; 
^h-d  an  eer  on  E«»  Sunday,  but  it  had  Made  he^ 

.i^J^:f  tl"*  <*•*>'  W»,  -<  he  drew  up  hi 
c^r.tWlHdd.ng.  HebegMtoatirifcedrinkJitha 
pe*^r  *pe>m.  both  elbows  on  the  t^>l& 

"  M-^-"'"  1»  Baid,  «  Jim  FttOI  now  -  T  ain't «,«, 

W^^r  '^k'^'k'"!'^''^'  "  "^°  ^"''  "''-•  l^-«'  done? 
Wby  do  yeh  be  botl»rin'  an'  ol'  woman  with  sich  like 

n-«et     It',  forty  years  .go,  d'  yeh  mind?     rorty 

^  ago!     Let  tbm  that's  dead  rest  in  peace,  will 

yw !        Her  anger  passed  in  the  instant     « Now,  I 


nt 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


•hould  n't  be  talkin'  like  that,"  ahe  apologized.  « I  «t 
few  enough  oalle«  these  days.  Will  yeh  take  a  bit 
more  sugar,  sur-an'  forget  an  ol'  wonum's  blather. 
1  m  not  mesilf  this  noon." 

He  took  the  sugar  without  a  word,  and  drank  down 
the  tea  m  a  gulp.  She  pressed  him  to  take  another 
cup,  but  he  shook  his  head.     "  Thank  yuh,  nu'am,"  he 

.itktthl^.""^^-'^*^^""''-"    =««^^^-t 
She  faltered :    « I  _  I  Ve  offlnded  yeh,  thin  i " 
He  went  out  without  answering -without  meeting 

hands,  then  she  set  xt  heavily  on  the  table,  and  sank 
luto  a  chair,  stanng,  bewildered,  at  the  closed  door. 

vjI  t  ??"*  ^^  ^'"''  "^^  *^^  excitement  of  his 
v^sit  bid  been  too  much  for  her.     She  felt  ill  _  and 

1  Her  mouth  weakened  and  drew  down  in  the  whim- 
^r  of  a  child;  the  memories  of  the  past  which  he  had 
recaUed,  overeame  her;  she  wept. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  she  heard  the  door  pushed  open 
«.dshe  checked  herself  quickly,  looking  uj  wiA  aS 

<^    ^.'  o"""**'^  *°  ^  f""-  *he  tears  in  her  eves. 
What  is  it  i »  she  asked  faintly.  ^ 

"  It 's  me  again,"  he  said.     « I  been  -  lyin'  to  yuh 

Ls£::^et.»'''''''  '^'' "'  ^-'.^hurner- 

Name  of  Hiven  I     Jimmy  Farrell,  d'  yeh  say  ?  " 
Jl©  ■ —  hd  — '^ 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


363 


"  D*  yeb  know  it  ?  " 

He  nodded,  avoiding  her  eye. 

eie  waited,  ghakinir    AH  fk.«»  ■    , 

Of  Jnnn.y  Farrell,  b!'  Z^  l^  ^  He  '  ''T' ' 
He  had  desertpH  ).»,       j   ■       '  ^®  "'■«  "live. 

«u  ueserted  her,  and  deceived  her      <«),„ 
shame  of  it  in  the  face  of  thi,  ^  **""  ^^ 

"  Well  »  .».»  Tj     ®  °^  '*'•»  man,  even. 

it  f  »        '    "^  '"•'  •'  ^'"*'  -  "»  hard  voice,  "  what  of 

-if^eWt^M  '"  *'^  ^"'^  °^  »''  *--  yuh 
6  «■      -ne  8  got  his  pension."  ^ 

Sshe  dropped  her  apron.     "D'vo), 
take  money  f^^  the-themaf?"       """  *""*  ^ '^ 

beglaJ-.^""    ^^^""'Wed  with  his  hat.     "He'd 

tjere's  a  liar  WMWhy-X'd  d'f ' ''"^^' 
these  yea«,  an'-God  hilpTs  I^""^  n  "~  "^^ 
-a-b.     « I  liied  him  hotter  dead"  ^^' ^"'^ '>«>^'« 

-t"hris^^r>sr"™^*'^-^»^«- 

^^„  -f-        He  d  be  Sony  to  hear  rnh  say 

wTr  «l-n^?i-'"  «^«  -^<i  in  a  hitter, 

-o^,tt-lruId"d^  'T    "^^^^  ''^'^  ^-e 

«S'  shook  herltd  Cth7r  ^''*  •*  "^''*-" 
<3own  her  wrinkles      «  T  rtu  "''  *^''"  "«»''»g 

other  side-^^au  thet"'  '  !"  "^*  '^^-^  ^h'" 
*"  «U  the  boys  an'  gurls."    Her  hands 


364 


IN  LOVERS'  MEETING 


clung  together  in  a  rfwking  grip.  «  Don't  tell  'nr  yeh 
Been  me,  sur.  The  -  the  shame  of  it  -'t  would  be  a. 
hardferAm."  She  reached  out  to  the  bundle  of  wash- 
ing and  began  to  untie  it  distractedly.  "  God  ease  the 
sin  of  it,"  she  wept,  "  but  I  was  happier  when  veh  toF 

me  he  was  shot  in  the  head Don't  tell  him  now 

Ut  r.  :eave  me  be.  I  can  finish  be  mesilf."  And 
Farrell  stumbled  out  the  door,  blindly,  hi.  felt  hat 
twisted  in  his  hands. 


THE  TWO 


MICKEYS 


THE  TWO  MIOEErS 


Dhey     ain't     doin'     »!/,/',■«• "     nr-  , 
"^W's  au  ,•„,  ^^,,,  ^r;-^,^  J^<*e.     whined. 

The  elder  "  M iokev  "_  »/ 

^  iis  friends,  altToSi  he  LT  T"  ".'''^''" 

been  "Mike "-sat  back  to  .1.       u •     ^«  '"'•="'  '"'^« 

-uld  take  witS^t  W  ""f"^  ""  ""*  °°«  tJ""*  he 
-ist.     Her^rpw!^  "^  >^**'  "'""ted  in  his 


86S 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


Swiia  obeeie  with  all  the  vacuous  good-nature  that  goea, 
profeMionally,  with  beer. 

He  smiled  a  somewhat  fuddled  smile  at  little  Mickey's 
shoulders,  breathed  heavily,  and  let  his  pouched  eyes 
settle  again  on  the  pair  of  lovers  before  the  footlighta 
far  below  him.  He  did  not  hear  what  they  were  saying; 
He  was  occupied  with  thoughts  of  pride  in  his  boy'a 
precocity. 

The  heroine  continued  to  talk  to  her  "  dear  Bobert" 
in  a  voice  of  affection  that  continued  to  make  little 
Mickey  squirm.  ,  He  was  not  only  impatient;  he  was 
not  merely  disgusted;  he  was  beginning  to  despair. 
Since  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  there  had  been  nothing 
but  this  "  muggin' "  going  on.  A  blind  wife  had  begun 
it,  in  a  sickening  high  falsetto,  her  arms  around  her  hus- 
band's neck.  Then  the  comic  Irishman  and  the  inn- 
keeper's daughter  had  taken  it  up.  Now  another  pair 
were  at  it.  There  had  not  been  so  much  as  the  hint  of 
a  murder  or  a  robbery  to  bear  out  the  promises  of  the 
bloody  posters  on  the  avenue  billboards.  And  Mickey 
—  watching  with  eyes  that  were  as  big  and  round  in  his 
pale  face  as  two  holes  in  a  triangle  of  his  mother's 
Swiss  cheese  —  kept  complaining  to  himself:  "Aw, 
dhis  's  rotten  1    Aw,  say,  dhis 's  rotten!" 

liehind  him  the  gallery  rose  in  tier  on  tier  of  in- 
tent faces  —  faces  strangely  white  in  the  reflected  glare 
of  the  footlights  —  faces  that  protruded  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, bodiless,  unblinking,  like  the  faces  of  a  nightmara 
But  from  tier  to  tier  an  uneasy  shuffling  of  hidden  move- 
ments  replied   to  Mickey's   impatience.     To  all  the 


THE  TWO  MICKETS 


868 
"godg"  thi«  MntJmenUlity  wm  "dead  .low"-  th« 

H«  father  noS      1^1'"'    v  "*  '''  •"'^•" 

M?  ^™"^.'^:C'^«^^«  ""•>«='' the  prioer' 
Mr.  Flyna  shook  hig  head.     « TTo-..  „       u-_. 
This  's  on'y  the  first  act."  ''^  ^''  "'"'*  *»»• 

«IW  Sl^"^^'."  *"  "'«'*  °f  *h«  others  in  that 
gallery,  Saturday  night  at  the  "show"  was  the  ,1 
ward  of  a  went  nf  .»7/j     •  1         ,  '"*  "^ 

«,„„  *     L  self-denial;  and  to  Mickey  it  was 

He  slid  down  dejectedly  on  his  back-bone.     «  Dhis  's 
slower  'n  church  I  "  *  * 

It  was  a  remark  that  appealed  to  his  father -for 


Micxocorr  iiEsoumoN  tist  cnaiit 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHABT  No.  2) 


d  APPLIED  IM/1GE     Ini 

ST  16»  East  Wain  Stmt 

',iS  RochMtar,  N«w  York         14609       USA 

=  (716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

as  (716)   288-59S9  -Fox 


360 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


personal  reasons.    He  wheezed  and  shook  apprecia- 
tively.    "  Don't  yuh  like  goin'  to  church  i " 

"  New." 

"Why  don't  yuh  V 

"Why  don't  ymi?" 

Mr.  riynn  evaded  the  question.  "  Yer  mother  wants 
yuh  to  go." 

"  She  wants  you  to  go,  too." 

"  I  ust  to  go  when  I  was  your  age." 

The  boy  looked  up  at  him  with  the  sharpness  of  a 
self-sufBcient  little  animal.     "  Did  yuh  like  it  ? " 

Some  one  behind  them  said:  "  Shut  up,  will  yuh  ? 
Youse  ain't  the  show."  And  Mr.  Flynn  coughed  apolo- 
getically, glad  of  the  interruption. 

He  had  been  vaguely  aware,  of  late,  that  Mrs.  Flynn 
was  setting  his  son  against  him;  and  although  she  had 
been  welcome  to  the  care  of  the  boy  as  long  as  he  was 
an  infant,  now  that  he  was  growing  old  enough  to  take 
a  side  in  the  family  quarrels,  Mr.  Flynn  b^an  naturally 
to  feel  a  jealous  interest  in  him.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  they  were  at  the  theater  together.  And  the  elder 
Mickey  smiled  to  find  that  in  their  dislike  of  church- 
going— as  in  their  common  contempt  of  feminine  af- 
fection as  it  was  misrepresented  on  the  stage  — he  and 
his  son  were  not  divided.  Mrs.  Flynn,  he  assured  him- 
self, would  not  be  able  to  make  a  mother's  "  Willie  "  of 
that  boy ;  he  had  too  much  of  his  father  in  him. 

Little  Mickey  had  dropped  his  elbows  to  his  knees 
again  and  craned  his  neck.  A  man  with  a  villain's 
black  mustache  was  attempting  to  interfere  between  the 


THE  TWO  MICKETS 


361 

sailor  and  his  wifp     Ti,„  *_ 

a  sudden  quar^,  J)l     °  "''°  "^"^  ^^^^  voices  in 

and   felled   hinriLT;T"*r  "'^  ^'""'"'^  "^n 
cackled.     '"DTuh  r^v''^^  ^'"'^"^   "'"^^d   and 

father.     «  G^rDi^'.  ."  T''  '"  ^ "  ''^  ^'^d  *«  ^is 
W,«  *„*>..    "^ ""  *  ^®  J'M'd  him  a  beaut  1 " 

-U.er.«i,f„^::,t;''''eabIetomalcea 

ersTs^;  h^St -t^'^,  'r'-'P^  -«^-ted  pow. 
in  an  insta^  "t  pmlrzLt^'^''*^  "  ^^<"«  -- 
drawing  his  W^^'  ITiXanl  V^  ''  T'^ 
over  it.  Little  Mieke,  tittereT- jlld!!! ^  t""' 
and  screamed  with  kuffhter  TK  ^^f^'^*  —  shook — 
-mciating  p„„eh  int  V  7^  S^ '  T'" 
love  md  secret  marriage  robbprx-     ™°^«°  P'ots  of 

themselves  inextrica^rCheT  '^1'"""*'  ^'"^'^ 
tableau.  And  when  iL  !!  -^  '"*^  ^^^^^  knot  a 
act,  the  vinainlrd^lrrri^-^^-^jof  tHe 

revenge;  the  captain  of  the  gaT^d  ^S  *'  ^^ 
gerous  robbeir;  the  8aiW=  ^*''®'' *  dan- 

hy  the  viUai^Clt  ?/?"^  "^^^  ""^  ?««»«» 

b.  which  ^e  ^r::^tlzift'  >r  ^" 

fort^e;  andthecomio  Tr;«l,l     1 1  ,    ^^  "'^  miser's 


MS 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


an  obscure  way,  to  Mickey's  enjoyment.  It  was  a  part 
of  the  daring  truancy  of  the  evening;  for  he  knew  how 
his  mother  fought  hia  father's  love  of  a  frequent  glass. 
He  smiled  at  the  curtain. 

The  smile  faded  as  he  became  aware  that  the  curtain 
was  not  the  one  that  he  had  seen  there  before.  It  was 
a  tame  pastoral  — a  Sunday-school  prize  volume  com- 
pared to  the  penny-horrible  in  paint  .:.at  had  been  hang- 
ing thera 

"  Dhey  w  d  bull-fight  on  d'  odder  one  —  d'  ol'  one," 
he  explained  to  his  father,  who  had  returned  refreshed. 
"  An'  dhe  bull  was  jus'  givin'  it  to  'em  —  an'  dhey  was 
bleedin'  blood."  His  voice  went  husky  with  the 
thought  of  much  gore. 

"Was  they?"  His  father  turned  a  Wearily  sym- 
pathetic eye  on  the  place  where  the  masterpiece  had 
hung. 

"  It  was  did  by  a  convic'.  An'  he  was  in  fer  life. 
An'  dhey  pardoned  'm  —  fer  doin'  it  1  " 

His  father  nodded,  drawing  a  package  of  candy  from 
his  pocket.  Mickey  took  it  awkwardly,  without  thanks. 
"Dyuh  get  yer  drink?"  he  asked,  t»  be  "sociable." 

"  Sure !     Havin'  a  good  time  ? " 

Mickey,  sucking  on  a  candy,  winked  archly.  "  Uh- 
huh ! " 

His  father  grinned.  There  was  no  need  of  words. 
They  understood  each  other. 

When  the  curtain  rose  again,  it  rose  on  the  promised 
robbery,  on  low  lights  and  tremulous  violins,  on  an  air 
vibrating  with  mystery  and  crime;  and  little  Mickey 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


forgot  hh  father.     Be  h.„.^  ^"  ^"^ 

P"er^,    tingling   w  th   «?     7' °''' '^^  ^'^^  °f  the 

Tie  captain  was  pi.ki  jj**  >»i«  lower  insidee. 
miser's  strong  box.  He«w„,-  "'  ''"''  ^"""d  the 
t^«g  it  on  the  table  -  wi^  """^  ""  ^«  ^<^^  emp- 
^o«ej..     He  was  looking  for  tL"*"'^  '''"^""«  °^  '^^^ 

^wkej  recognized  it;  he  h»f  ''"S^  '^^  seal, 

He  breathed  as  if  on  tinto!      ?^'**««  ^"^  before 

Tvas  opening!  He  w«=  j-  ^ ''"O' behind  him  r  It 
Heth       ,L^,f:-  W^^   "Help,    Heip," 

and  choked.  AndMickevT'  ?^^^  "'"^  """n  struggled 
-'^^  a  relentless  cTutl^  I'^f'^  ^^^  ^«"ery  rating 
He  had  killed  him!    He'dte^'^^/  ^''-^hatf 

Someone-aomeone-V     ''"^^'■'    "S««s-sh!" 
ter's  blind  wife.    "  Thank  c!^  T'^'    ^'^a^tierol^ 
caught  a  long  breath,  JSthit  '  '""'^ ' "    ^'^^^ 
through  the  open  doo;,7ust  as  tlL  w'  T""^  ""'^^'^-i? 
-  the  bod,  of  the  de^d  mi:    td 's     "°"^'^  ^'"-^led        "^ 
The  mnocent  sailor  rnshed  Tto  1     "^'^  ''^  "J"™- 
bj  the  police  (who  had  o  "         r'-^"    ^^^as  seized 

--)•     "Arrelt   that  m 7^7^^  T  '"  *^^  »-' 
tn-no-ceni!"    Tl,«„    *i,  "^  murder!"     «t   ,„ 

^11  prrrove  it  1 »  ^  ""'* "       And  my  evidence 


364 


THE  TWO  MICKEY8 


When  the  captain,  posing  for  Liberty  enlightening  the 
Upper   Bay,   uttered   those  generous  words,   Mickey 
brought  his  dirty  little  palms  together  with  a  smack 
that  led  the  gallery.    A  whirlwind  of  applause  beat 
upon  the  curtain,  and -when  the  curtain  rose  again 
—  upon  the  actors  bowing  before  the  storm.    Mickey's 
shrill  pipe  of  happiness  topped  it  all.    When  the  up- 
roar dwindled  down  to  an  excited  interchange  of  appre- 
ciations, his  treble  kept  the  key-note.    "  Gee  1    Was  n't 
It  great  ?     'D  yuh  see  'm  grab  d'  ol'  guy  be  dhe  pipe  ? 
Say   wy  didn't  he  lift  dhe  box,  'stead  o'  monkeyin' 
roun   dhere  till  dhey  got  in  on  'em,  eh?    Gee,  dhough, 
wasn't  it  great?"  •  >         e  . 

His  father  had  been  watching  Mickey  rather  than  the 
play;  but  he  simulated  a  smiling  interest  and  answered: 
burel     That  fraa  somethin'  like,  eh?" 
A    boy    of    Mickey's    acquaintance  —  the    son    of 
Schurz,  the  butchor-  leaned  in  from  the  aisle  to  say: 
Yer  mother's  out  huntin'  fer  yuh,  Mickey.    Tow '11 
get  it!"    And  Mickey's  face  fell  half-way  to  an  ex- 
pression of  unhappiness  before  it  lifted  to  upper  elee 
again.    He  turned  to  his  father,  full  of  the  self-sacrifice 
of  the  robber  captain's  climax.     "  Dhat  'a  all  rieht,"  he 
cheered  his  parent.    "  If  she  finds  out 't  you  was  here, 
I  11  tell  her  I  took  yuh." 

"She  won't  find   out  nothin'.    Never  mind  her 
Havin'  a  good  time  ? " 

Mickey  chortled.    "Sayl    D' yuh  guess  dhe  cap'n 's 
goin' to  eonfest?"  ^ 

They  discussed  the  question,  sharing  the  candies, 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


them.  "*'"^"*  "laf  was  preparing  for 

^or  the  remainder  of  th^ 
^een  iis  frequent  Weitf  ^ZT''  """  ^^"'  ^^ 

«t«e  ifieiey  also  movel I^'E  ''^  '^  '^'""''  '^'^ 
-a  world  of  robber  denl   oft      ^    "  ^"'''  ^°'^<1 
feacheiy  thwarted,  and^<  th«         •*  ""'  ^'^'^'  "^ 
evaded  and  abused.    It  di/    .  ""'"'*'"  ***  *^«  1*^'" 
-aj  trying  to  betra/an    ntdr^  ^''  "^^  ^'"''- 
and  escaped  capture  by  com  *  J-      "  ^'^"'^  ^^  ""^bery 
Jaw  had  a  kind  heart  L  aW  "T."'""'^''-    ^'^  -^ 
-atiments  that  were  llf    ,?'^'^^^  *<>  *he  gallery 
company  filed  befo«  ZolK"""^^'-     "^^'^  the 

-«ainwithaven;ZstLTar  -^"'^^  "^'^^  *<"" 
pathetic  neighbors,     "gay  kfd  V"""*^  ^^^'^  »"■«  ^y-- 

at;t;;r-^--tShr'.— ^:--:- 

He  feasted  his  eyes  ™  .h  "  "^""^  "^J^ed. 

cave  in  the  woods,  wh"  e"hf  trr^**"^  "'  *^^  '"''l^'''' 
of  misty  blue  mosi  beautifS  He  si"'  !^'"'^  '"^  ''^^ 
of  their  underground  J^  ifptr  ,"  *'^  ^'•"»» 
door  was  opened  except  with  L  IT'  ''^'''  "^^«'  " 
and  chains.  He  iJedonZf''''^"'''^''^^^'^^^ 
office  of  the  chief  of  p7li^'  ^  h"T"'''  '"  *^^  ««-* 
head  when  he  recognized  2eT    f'  ^'"'  '^''^  ''''  h« 

-  a  «endam.,^4^t;t2^d:rS  '''^^^^^ 

"""•     -inere  was  a 


366 


THE  TWO  MK'KEYS 


S  f*':^"  *•"«  «'i«'>'y  outlaw  and  the  five  gen- 
darmes who  tned  vainly  to  handcuff  him.  There  was 
another  when  he  escaped  from  his  dungeon  with  a  Te- 

ZZ  If:  "^""l  ''^'  '"'^-^  «-*  Et  his  guardt 
with  a  blank  cartridge  and  so  startled  Mickey  whh  the 

r^  ^>:^  f "'  "'  ^"^  "''^"'"^  f^o"!  the  red  on  his 

«J|rt  bosom.  He  died  with  his  face  upturn^  to 
Mickey,  and  the  curtain  fell  upturned   to 

the^i?'''-f  °°'  ""'''  ""'"  ^'"^  °««  butted  him  in 

Stl  ht  7t  '"  '"r*""*  ""^  ««  --  «Wd  along 
with  his  father  m  the  crowd;  he  floated  down  the  stai  ! 
to  the  chill  air  of  the  streets,  still  half  stup^      Ce 

"VS;rSl^l:trS;^r"-^-rJd: 

better  get  a  g, it  on,  pop,"  he  said      «  «5J,. 'ii    •      . 
ynh,  if  yuh  don't."  She  11  give  It  to 

They  would  have  made  a  moving  illustration  for  a 
temperance  tract     Little  Mickey  Trotted  alZ    fl 
and  eager^yed    beside  his  father^  who^^lwTa  f S 
agger,  mumbling  to  himself.     They  made  a  pictut 

Hotous  turmoil  Of  his  mind;iasi:^rMlL;a;\^ 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


K^  ~~  367 

DOOM  companion,  proud  of  l,;=  i 

»he   robber  capt^rieZt  T'tf  '""'^■-»-",  -a 
hand,  hi.  pockL  fu,    ofl        "'"'  ^'^^  "^^   the 

on  tho  instant  of  intJl  ''°"'^''  "^'"^  'eady, 

that  minion  of  the  "aw  Tr;/"^  ^^■••'"  ^'"-'^    '- 

o"t  from  any  doonvay  to  S;    .  V"""  '^"'  "'"  '-^"i' 

door  of  his  „„derZ.md  reL:!  ,  ''  "''  ''"  ''«^'  «'  «'« 
-  and  saw  no  8p™eh7nr.  f  """^'^  """''■"^  hi« 
to  the  eh.ef  of  polij;         ^      ^"''"''^  ^'^  hiding-place 

"/^llS'In^  -iS-rj^J-^^^here,"   he  ordered, 
'tyuh  seen  nie."        '^^       ^^  '"^''^=     "^on't  tell  'm 

a«  he  had  disappeared  lehf.,!,°°  '"°"'-  ^«  «°on 
delicatessen  sh^^  i"  t„t"f  K  ""J  *"  ''°°'-  "^  '^e 
the  shadows,  and  pr^etdTd  toTh  t'  """""''''^  ^ 
.his  trail  by  doubling  a^nd  ^  bl^ol''"  '''  ^'-*^«  «« 

far  ::  t^^^;^^  him,  nntracked.  as 
the  whole  sidewalk  lay  1;  blai  frt^'  ^"*  *^«'« 
hid  beMnd-the  woodenlndi  Itft  if ''  ''"^^-'^«^ 
next  door,  planning  a  detour     It  w  *°^Tf '*'  ^^"P' 


368 


THE  TWO  iflCKEYS 


d^ided  to  c„y  off  the  .itu.tion  with  .  bold  iront. 

hind  IL     Th  n  t  7"'^^  "'""^^  ^'  ''"'•^•^ 
—  «n^  ,        '^P^  <>»'  f«>m  his  hidiM-nla™ 

arxn.         ^'     '^^  **'^«''  "^^  «»ght  him  by  the 

He  looked  at  her,  bewildered.     «  Qee  1 "  h„  .«i^ 
pnned  to  find  himaelf  «,HH«ni^  •  V        "*'  *"'" 

subject  to  maten^JauthSr^^  "  """  '"' 

She  shook  him,     «Y«t.  ii#»i-.  •  ,  . 

have  betrayed  him.     If  "thirty  "t.^       ?T  "'""" 
SbTh    :,^  u?  '^"*  *^  **  "^^^ge*!  on  «  Shirty  " 

». -^trs::'?!'.," -.:  »r '^f 

i  another 


tone      "Hayeyeh  been  playin' the 


Naw,  lain't.     I  ain't  been 


craps  again  f  ■ 


Whayr'dyehcomebyit,thin 


doin'  not'in'," 


360 


THE  TWO  MICKEYs 
"  Seme  one  give 't  to  me." 

h'deyehferthat''       '"  ^*^' ^'^W-     Yer  father '11 

a  leather  strap.  « i  ^^..^^^^^^  °»  ^lickey  with 
"Do  yer  own  lickin'.  ^L  ^'^"  ^""^  ^^d  once, 
hate  me?  I  b'lieve  ynh  do^"  c?"'  ''."^'^^  *^-  hoy 
do  yer  doot^  as  a  f ah^er  er  veh  'r^"\^-'  "  ^^^^ '" 
»ow.  Yer  a  dang  poor  L!h/?  "  '^"'^^  °"'  o'  here 
<^.    But  yeh  '11  tS  f^  t   f  ~  '^'  ^  '^«  «tood  fer 

^"Jiin'r^unJheririon^^^tT'r  ' '"  ^^^  ^«" 
with  the  air  of  n  T^^    Vr    .        '^''  ^''^  «*«>? '  "    Ar.^ 

«^t  the  flg„ral:?^f  ""-^'  ^«  ^«d  ^or^d  him^o 

£S';Si  t- t;  o^^^^Jather  this  nigh, 
be  almost  dragged  to  the  shop  do!^  7"'  ^''^'^^  *° 
was  ^ide  ,,,  t^j,^  past  X  °S' ""f  "  «»<>-  as  he 
l»ad  been  tendim?  th«  T    .         -Lynn's  sister  — who 

away-.„d  ranVhidri,;''^\^"-  ^'^^  - 
which  he  slept  ^^'^^  ""  *h«  little  room  in 

It  ^-^s  at  the  very  oacfc  „'  t\, 
which  the  Flyn^s  Kf a^^t^^""  «""«  «'  -oms  i„ 
t«' captain's  dungeon  cdl     But  M"  T    *'^  "*  *^«  ^°h- 
of  the  dark;  the«  had  been  „"  ,   f '^  ^"^  "«*  "f'-aid 
»»  his  education.     He  shuThr.      '^  ""'""'^  nonsense 

outer  olofhing  excjt  £  tier,!!?  *"' "^  «"  ^^ 
f    ais   tajicterbockers.     Then   he 


370 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


clambered  into  bed  and  waited  for  whatever  wrath  there 
was  to  como. 

Of  the  interview  between  Mr.  and  Mr..  Flynn  he 
heard  only  the  muffled  shrill  voice  of  the  wife  interred 
gating  «.lcnc«..     He  lay  on  his  back,  hi.  leg.  and  arm. 
spread  w.de  -  ready  to  resist  any  attempt  to  turn  him 
over  and  expose  h..  vulnerable  rear  -  wondering,  dully, 
whether  h.s  mother  would  .ucceed  in  extortinfa  con- 
fession from  his  partner  in  crime.     He  himself  wa. 
P-vpared  to  endure  all  the  mythical  tortures  of  the 
.rd  degree"  rather  than  speak  a  word  that  micht 
betray  h.s    aithful  confederate.     At  the  same  time  t 
Baw  himself  on  the  very  edge  of  his  doom,  saved  f  om 
W.ng  the  final  penalty  of  his  .ilence  by  L  magna" 
n^ous  mterference  of  hi.  father.     «  I  am  in-noSt!  " 

would  shout:        And  my  evidence  will  prrrove  itl  " 

He  stiffened  at  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps 
bracmg  himself  from  his  heels  to  hi.  eis.     Mrs 

fJn."   f'^Z  T^   *'"'   ^'^''-     ^^^  ^"d   «   light   in 
one  haad  and  the  strap  in  the  other.    He  saw  that  .he 

:l^.ZX     ^-^-^-^-i-tinctivelyhard. 

"Mickey  now/'  she  pleaded,  « tell  me  how  yeh  come 

£ni::s."''''""^^-*'''-'^'"-'^«^^eh. 
Zr::t::^''-''-  -«— g^-'ttome.- 


'  Some 


one.' 


'  That  ain't  the  truth,  Mickey.' 


THE  TWO  AUCKiiYs 


r  !•  80." 

-7  out  of  bed  to  rfl:;!^t  J^»  ^f^.  at  last 
and  struggling __, he  beat  hL  •  ^"^^  '^^  «  "'"b 
f  e  herself  with  .n^XZ^\"  "'"""^  ^•^"^^.  •>- 
d'd  not  utter  a  sound  He  2  ^  "^  «e«ilessly.  He 
m-no^ntl"     And  ,       "' ^''^  "ry  out  "  I  am 

--p;-pB^:iho:;r:';\'"rr,^pe^s: 

'-  from  the  room  sobbingl      Lt    ^^'^°"^'  ""^ 
relaxed  with  the  groan  of  In^'  i^'  ''"'«  Mickey 

-rted  in  distr««  ^H'^^T"^  that  has  been  de 
to  ite  rescue.  ^  "^  '^^'^  ^"^  to  have  nwhed 

He  was  not  subtle     Ha 
had  merely  boyish  ide;is  of  ^ZT  T *''"^*^-    He 
faal  m  th«e  without  disgrace  !^^t   .1*  ""  ''"^  <«"'<» 
In  that  bitter  moment  thrbTy'wl  h^?'^'  "^^  ^-"^• 
«nd  applauded  the  hero  saw  ht  A  ^"'^  **■«  ^'"«'' 
sneaker."     His  moth^sL^      t'  "^  »  ""'^"d,  a 
any  resentment  of  hef^elu     "  h"''  "''"'^  "^'^^t 
traced;  and  in  the  du3u.hti''  "^'  ^"^  ^"  ^^ 
admiration  a.d  his  lo^  wfnt  f  f  T  "'  "  '"'^  ^« 
burst  of  tears  that  shook  hS.  '""  ^'*^  '^^  ^^t 


372 


THE  TWO  MICKEYS 


He  crawled  back  mto  bed  and  wrapped  himaelf  as 
well  a,  he  could  m  the  coverlet  An  hour  later,  when 
h  8  mother  came  m  to  look  at  him,  he  was  throttling  a 

b  midnight  — an'  vengesminel" 

She  did  not  faiow  that  the  elder  Mickey  had  taken  the 

after,  the  boy  wae  to  be  more  and  more  her  defense 
agamst  her  husband's  good-natured  but  skulking  shift- 
ZfT  Zrl  *'"'  "^-^^  on-against  the  world 

only  that  the  two  Mickeys  had  been  at  the  theater  to- 
gether and  she  stood  looking  down  at  him  through  t^ 

S  "1"^  «  °°  *^'  ''^"'•^«''  ^'^  ^  ^^^  gentle 
ne^a  "layoffyerclothee,Mickey,"aheaaid'  «yS 
can't  sleep  so." 

^mething  in  hia  swoUen  eyes,  as  he  opened  them 

heai  The  two  o'  them,"  she  said.  "The  two 
Mickeys  ...  Ah,  child,  have  I  put  nothin'  of  LeS 
intoyeh?    Nothin' at  aU  ?  "  oi  mesm 


X-ABKIN 


IT  was  after  niehtfaH  ,•„  *i,  . 
^  which  i«,  to  tJ^Tof  I*'.:*  Pf  °f  J^ew  York 
Jonse -- ^here  the  «^l:  ;,^; J'*^' ^>  «tor,  of  the 
b-iness  district  of  ^  Iw  1'  ^"^ ''°"'  ^^-  ^^e 
deserted  basement,  the  liill*""?.  ^  <«  ^^^^t  as  a 
«g  windows;  and  beW.ff  T'*  ^'*  '"^  ""  *ie^  «hin- 
l^okkeepers,  i.op.giri7alt   J""^  ''"'"'^'  "^-k^  and 

pavements  with  an  appeafaleeoT.    T  "^  ""''-''«- 
"  pool  of  frozen  stone^Tlf     '^''"^ '^'o  deep  i„ 

jock  had  hardened  eveniv^.f,  I'T^"*'""  °^  ^"'d 
^''ery  .nequaiity  of  the  Z^7J^  fT""  """^  ''""«d 
suburb  unde.  a  barren  cSTof  ,    T,    '''"'^  ^°"  "^  « 

^P  one  of  the  bar^^e    ?h     '  ""'  """' 
Larkm  struggled  against^im«r^  "^"^  P'^^^^'^nt, 
fo'^ght  and  jostled  him  l"tit7""^^  f  December  tha 
'f  ts  until  they  ga^p'ed  tST-'^'"'^""'^^^- 
g'«««es,  and  puffing  sfiff  mT"    ,'"■  '"'"''''g  ^^"'P- 
«-eep  the  stones  as  Ian  t     "'°"|  '^  «'dewalk  to 
-tb  his  chin  in  his  tZ  TJZ     ^f>  f°-ard, 
about  his  neck,  he  looked  as  if  th^-'f ""'''""  ^""°^>^ 
I'-'d  pounded  hia  head  Lfo  hi!  w  °'''"=^  "^  *he  wind 
nito  h„  body  and  crushed  his 


37ft 


LARKIN 


stiff  derby  down  on  his  ears.  He  had  one  hjmd  thru 
into  the  breast  of  his  overcoat  at  the  aperture  of 
missing  button  and  his  elbows  were  pressed  in  again 
his  sides;  «o  that  he  seemed  to  be  hugging  himsc 
against  the  cold,  shrunken  in  on  himself  in  an  unwillii 
and  shivering  discomfort. 

Yet,  when  he  stopped  in  the  light  of  a  hall-lamp 
look  up  at  the  number  on  the  door,  a  package  showed  : 
the  crook  of  his  elbow  to  explain  his  posture^  and  aboi 
the  wrappings  of  that  package  there  shone  the  gi 
twine  of  the  bonbon  counter.  His  lips  were  contract* 
with  the  cold  as  if  to  the  pucker  of  a  whistle^  and  h 
simple  face,  glowing  with  the  nip  of  the  wind,  was  tl 
sort  from  which  an  always  cheerful  melody  might  J 
expected  continuously  to  pipe. 

He  came  up  the  steps  to  pick  out  the  name  of  "  Coi 
nors  "  over  an  electric  bell,  and  he  pressed  the  buttc 
heavily  with  the  flat  of  his  thumb.  T'le  door-lo( 
clicked.  He  wiped  his  feet  on  the  mat  for  a  momei 
of  hesitation,  and  then  blew  apologetically  into  tl 
thumb-crotch  of  a  closed  fist  as  he  entered;  but  the 
were  the  only  signs  of  any  inward  agitation  at  the  pro 
pect  of  making  a  social  call,  iminvited,  .n  a  girl  wl 
did  not  know  his  name;,  and  who  might  possibly  n< 
even  remember  his  face. 

A  little  old  woman  in  a  shawl  was  waiting  for  him  i 
a  doorway  on  the  second  lau  ding.  He  asked  oautiousl; 
from  the  top  step:    " 'S  Miss  Connors  live  here  ?  " 

"  She  does."     She  peered  out  to  see  that  he  was 
atranger.    «  I '11  tell  her."    She  disappeared. 


LABKIN  ^y 

a«ked  hinC  S^  X?  '""  '"'"  ^''^  P-'<"-     She 
nodd^  bu't  he  diTnt^';"  ''^"°*'''  *"  "^  ^^'^^-     Ho 

-t/r^t  ^ri:i"?r  ""^  *'^  '^-^^-^^^^  -^ 

graph  album  undlr  Ms  haS    '  r  "  ^^  ^'"^^  PJ""*- 
ing  on  the  cover  aLdL^T     "  '"'°"  "^  ^^'  '«««- 

^t.  With  a  faaeinlS^X  ^Sh^r  ^^^  ^ 
of  skirts  and  a  nattPr  nf      •  ?  ^  ^^""^  »  «^ish 

the  gaud,  hangings^  thTdJo^S;^  ^If  ^  "^^T 

-ooti?;rthi3r;ft  "tL-*^''*  ^^  •^^ 

jacket  -  caught  at  th?.,  1  P'^^-heribboned  dressing 
there,  a.  if  sfe  d  d  lo^  ZtZ7  "'  ^'^  "'^"^^'^  ^^'^ 
plained  himself.  "^  *"  ""**'  "°*a  he  had  ex- 

hairXTs^eTo^lS';?;  '^f  "^ -1-ettish  black 
the  middle  of  her  fori  !?   "f  «*  '""'«i"g  down  in 

"*>'     flhe  said,  with  an  affectation  „* 

3  first  time:  "you  '^TZ.l'j^'^''-?. 


He 


red- 
lunch 


nodded, 
-headed 
counter 


Pipp 


you'reMr.Eattra/sfrien'? 


girl.     We  been 
right  along.' 


was  aatin'  about  jnih  from  the 


go:n'  to  jour  place  at  the 


878 


LAKKIN 


c^oclates.      He  lifted  hi8  hat  to  uncover  the  c»ndj 

From  the  way  he  did  it,  it  was  plain  how  much  he  had 
counted^  on    the    effect.     She    laughed.     "Oh-ol 

blush  out,  like  rouge,  on  either  cheek-bone. 

dot,    away  from  her  and  took  refuge  in  a  chair,Sin^ 
down  m  his  overcoat,  with  his  hat  in  his  hands. 
vaiJT  ^^'^'">«  y*"-  tWngs  ? "  ghe  asked,  in  the 

yun  were.      He  looked  around  the  room  in  a  manner 
of  being  very  much  at  his  easa 

r,.!l?^,^''"^^r**^  ''^''  ^  «^^««'"  ^''^  «»id.  ^th  a 
ne^ous  laugh  ihat  was  followed  by  a  fit  of  coughing 
She  sat  down  with  the  box  in  her  lap  and  began  to  o^n 

atS/'°<^l'5*^!'^"^'"  "  That 'srighV  he  said 
at_lMt        Yuh  don't  want  to  go  back  too  soon  after  the 

"I  guess  mine  was  nemmonia,  too,"  she  replied, 

He  nodded  at  a  crayon  portrait  of  Mrs.  Connors  on 
the  far  wall     "  That 's  what  they  toP  us." 


I-AKKIN  „^ 

candie.     "  Won't  ^ft^oSeT"'      '-'^"^  -'  «« 
Jilt'''  •""'  "^^  ^"  *^  '"''»  "><»  J""  ««ched  aero.. 

of  h,.  cheek  m  a  way  which  made  it  plain  to  her  th^ 

^^^       ,      esaia.       Pipp  8  in  the  Pennsylvania  oflS- 
"Oh?" 

"Did  yuh?" 

ch^'^i'wf^^'l^'^'  """"^  °°  *«  '>'J«>'  in  hi. 
cneet        We  sort  o'  ran  awnv     T  v„  i„         ?>. 

Bince  he  was  about  Xi"  Vhlw  vT  f '''^  '"^ 
Wfil  xm-tJ.  I,-     u    ,j     *  ®  "^'^  ™8  J"**  out  on  a 

"Where  'd  yuh  urt  to  live  ?  "  she  asked  politely 

"  Jit '  wh      '^JT''  ''^*^'  «''*«^1  ho-^  there,  an^ 

de^^lTt  ™"'  '"  ."'  *^"  "^'''''  «•■«  <J><J  notion, 
derstand.     I*  came  with  the  memory  of  those  sleepy 


380 


LARKIN 


^temoon.  m  the  wagon  -  the  nmell  of  fr«sh  bread  al- 
ways sweet  on  Its  worn  ahelvea  that  were  «.  clean  and 

^heat-cracked  top,  and  the  yellowish-whitenag,  that 
knew  to  round  of  customers  a«  well  as  he  did,lL  J 
from  side  to  side  of  the  road,  unguided.  ^ 

beS«  ZY^  ""?""  P"^^'<^  ^''  """l  "  '-«  »ot  to 
be  the  last  t.me  he  was  to  leave  her  at  a  loss.    He  had 

one  of  those  nunds  that  seem  to  make  stolid  night 

marches  and  to  arrive  unexpectedly  at  the  strand 

conclusions  without  at  all  sharing'the  s„;rry 

W  photograph  of  his  father's  bak.shop,  taken^Jy 
some  traveling  photographer  who  made  a  specialty  of 
« «ercial  business."     In  the  doorway,  S^L 

t^^ca^  rr.  r"?;:  '"^  "  P^^  -^^  knickerbockers 
adaiowledpng  that  though  his  father  was  the  original 
rSm  "'  ^''  ""'*^''  ^<^  "^'^'^^  ^^^"^  "-r 

Miss  Connors  did  not  smile  when  he  explained  that 
his  mother  looked  sleepy  because  she  alway^sat  up  und 

nin?,"^?  "''"  *  *'?*^  °^  "  ^'PP  "  '^^  ^^^t,  grin- 
ning   elf-consciously  in  the  gummy  smile  of  ^oTth. 

«Wenrt-"°f  ~^'PP'"   ^«   ^<^    "-l-^ringly. 
We  ust  to  be  m  the  same  cla«  at  school,  but  he  got 
away  ahead  of  me."  *^ 


LARKIN 


SSI 


J^He'B  a  jollier,  ain't  he?"  .ho  said,  in  the  same 

h  '?r".  \^''''«^'^-    "He  waa  jollyin'  the  red- 
headed girl  today.     He  'b  more  fun  'n  enough." 

She  straightened  back  from  the  photograph  with  a 
change  of  face. 

"  I  don't  see  such  a  much  of  him  now,"  he  went  on 
innocently;  «  'cept  at  twelve.  He's  mighty  pop'lar  I 
Tuess.     He  has  to  go  out  'bout  ev'iy  night."  ' 

He  turned  the  tintype  over  in  his  hand  and  sat  look- 
ing at  the  blank  back  of  it.     She  was  studying  him. 
D  yuh  board  together} "  she  asked  suddenly 

He  shook  hia  head.  "Pipp's  niored  downtown." 
ile  put  the  pictures  back  in  his  pocket  and  sat  leaning 
forward  with  his  forearms  on  his  knees,  looking  down  at 
his  hat  on  the  floor.     «  N'  York 's  a  big  place,"  he  said. 

fehe  smiled  the  smile  of  understanding.  "  It 's  pretty 
lonely,  too,  ain't  it?     Won'tyuh  take  off  yer  coat?" 

He  rose.  "  I  guess  I  better  be  goin',»  he  said.  "I 
—  I  jus'  dropped  in  — to  see  how  yxih  were."  He 
evaded  her  eyes  by  looking  into  his  hat,  and  while  she 
was  still  stammering  an  attempt  to  put  him  at  his  ease 
again,  he  edged  to  the  door  and  slipped  out  She  fol- 
io^ him.     "  I  hope  ynh  '11  come  up  again,  Mr.-" 

He  did  not  give  her  his  name.  He  stumbled  down 
tne  stairs. 

"  Well,  good-night,"  she  said  reproachfully 
"Good-night,    good-night,"   he   answered   from   the 
lower  landing. 

She  went  back  into  the  room  and  took  a  candy  from 


WJ,ow«itf"MnuConno«..keA 

■ae  «ent  me  up  some  candy." 

done  „p  in  a  E  S  n.^      '  *^u  '^'"^  ""^  ^'^  ^"^^ead 
the  str^t  below  W    ^^''  "'"'''"«  ^'"'*  --  ^oing  in 

HuX\Trr';f.n?r  '^'  '"°*''-'  -  ^^ 

"I'm  mown'  in  J:^!!^^'^"*-  '^^'  «^-- 
the  laundr,  tub  heaS  Z       '  ""^  ^'"  '^°'''«8  «-«' 

«he  said  hmnoron  J  ^  TW  M  "^"^^  ^"  *^«'»'" 

I  'm  lookin'  a  sight"  ^      '^"**  ""*°^  •"«>  ^h«» 

one  8  got  to  have  it  back  Satur- 


LARKIN 


383 


She  said  she  liked  it.     My 


d«y  —  •  girl  at  the  hoa«e. 
name'aLarkin," 

JwZ^l  h  K  "irff'^  "'»""7  "O-*'.  "  Wedded 

He  laughed  unexpectedly.     "Well,  I  ain't  such  a 
much.     I  saw  ^me  book,  over  on  Third  Avenuh  't  we 

Z I  d-r Vl*":  """J  °"*  '"-  -"'  8«»  *-o  o'  them 
but  I  did  n't  get  through  the  firgt." 

_  J  Didn't  yuh?"    She  emiled  at  his  sudden  volubil- 

Th7'^  *  y^  '"^  *°  '^''^  ««**  *''"«'  ^  'he  hay  loft 
They  cost  five  cent,  each-about  Jesse  James  an'  the 
^diana.  We  ust  to  borr"  an'  lend  them  -  untS  But! 
SouS""'^''-^-^-^     Heborr'dthem     1 

He  shook  his  head  uncertainly  and  then  he  smiled  a 
broad  gnn.     She  turned  the  pages  of  the  bolt    ^1 
cept  when  yuh  want  to  jolly  us  along,"  she  added. 
He  hitched  up  his  shoulder  and  looked  troubled. 
1    dont   know   but   what   yuh   look    „«    -    * 
P^^nter.  tK^,"  she  said,  and  gOtp^Jly'^.T 

Oh,  htm,    she  stopped  him.    « I  guew  he  don't  do 


884 


LABKIN 


"  w.™   n      .  "  °°'  answer. 

Have  n't  yuh  never  been  ?    Because  "  .f. 
without  looking UD  "I  w«n»*    1.       "'"    '''^^enton, 
in  the  booU»      ^'  '"'  '°  ''""''  '^  ''«y  do  it  right 

ou     / '"'^  •**'»'•  come  fer  it  on—"  •^' 

one  dropped  the  book      "  v„k  » 
cried.  ^u''  w  not  5-o,Vr' .he 

down."  Bhe'^dere/TV^Xr  t^*^'^  '°'^' 
the  handle  at  likeTliL    o"  '"^^"  *°  ^^  "^ 

go.     Goonb'ack::^,;-,.,!:,^-     ^ -"^'^  ^^^  ^ 
He  did  go. 

thilv^  ^^"  ^^^  -d;  "you're  as  touchy  as  any- 

tohtttwTv'°'/'Y'"*-     He  raised  his  eyes 
exp^ssrtt  dlr  T'T"^'  '"*  ^*  '"°^''' 


^«^N  385 

not  unxaixed  with  .hi?         "'  ~'"^''^°"  »•"'  -- 

He  replied  that  he  diZoT    "^'^u  '"™  "*"'"•" 

chiefl,  about  h"  Sn  the  wrfT'  """""''•"'' 
ti.e  "  lu,.ch  counter  "    Whl  ),  *'°"**'  '""^ ''«"'  »' 

did  not  meet  hig  eyL  '  "*'  "^  '«'"'«  her  «he 

HertStrVje?^/"^  P'^'  ^"^  '•"«  -  ''-d. 
night.  "  ''"'  "'"«'"'«  '^'^efully  far  into  the 

A,n  t  «he  getfn'  better? "  he  wWgpered. 

the^oltei  "''Sr--  i!'  ^^-  -    laid 
"Not   a   hi,»     .^'''.*/l'0'"»y better?" 

day.an'drngs.au'dainisJhat'"'';  '^"^  "^'^'J 
I  'd  put  by  fS'us-evS"  *t  of  it  T?  *'^  ""'^  *>'' 
ends.     I  am  that"         "^  **"*  °*  "•     I 'm  at  my  wits' 

She  bega.  to  pour  out  all  the  anxieties  that  she  had 


380 


LABKIN 


He  listened,  blinking  at 


been  restraining  for  months, 
the  bag  of  peanuts. 

old.  I  m  not  good  fer  much.  Our  frien's  's  S  got 
tn^ubles  of  their  own,  Heavens  knows-poor  LSl 
It's  a  bad  way  we'll  be  in  if  Maggie's  nC^ ^Tt 
strong  again.  A  bad  way."  She  sTdiraJknottS 
her  hard  old  hands  together  in  her  lap.  "  An'  h«  suS 
a  bright  girl  —  poor  child."  ^ 

overtt!  w'  "Y  'r  '^'''-    ^'  '"^^'J  his  hat 

from   the   door.    He   started    at   the   sight   of   W 
P^pmg  around  the  hanging  at  him.     sL  laughed 
Juh  re  gettm'  so  fash'nable,  I  thought  yuh  .eVJl 

"I  was  huntin'  fer  some  peanuts,"  he  confessed     "  T 
could  n't  find  a  peddler."  "econiessed.        I 

"  Peanuts  1 "  she  cried.     "  Wait  MI  T  «.f  ™ 
on."  *"  "  ^  g«t  my  wrapper 

He  turned  to  smile  at  Mrs.  Connors. 

They  '11  do  her  no  hurt  anvwava  "  pfc.>  j  j 

"  T  vcUh  '♦..,„        _^     .  anyways,     she  conceded. 

I  wish  t  was  port  wme,  poor  girl  " 

It  was  port  wine,  the  next  time  he  appeared  •  it  r.<.. 

^so  calves'  foot  ielly.    And  though  Miss' Co^ llde 

meriy  oyer  them,  her  mother  was  visibly  won.     ShTrt 

heved  In^  „f  His  hat  and  made  him  ta'ke  off  hi!t ^ 

coat     And  having  intervened  to  save  him  from  her 

daughter's  teasings  several  times  throughout  the^l^; 


LABKDf 

387 
she  parted  from  iim  with  «.i.  ^ 
and  scolded  the  girl  tol^        "'"'"^  "'  ^^^'P'^t  ten 

ile  8  as  slow  as  mud" 

What  of  it?  "she  cried.  «it',.u  .  . 
2  yet.  He 's  no  fl^-awayanywal  Tf^  '^'^  ^*''*'' 
He  IS  now.  Y' ought  to  t.tn^'  ^««a«»odboy. 
baitin'  him  so.  Yero^fT  "^^  ""  ^^^^^^  *»  ^ 
-a«,  an'  he  made  as  Zdt  f  "  ""*  "^  "'^  ^'^  "«  -- 
Mind  yeh  that."  ^  *  ""^  «»  any  girl  M  want. 

"  Ton    ,;„i.t  J  ^^  "  ^''^  momin'.'' 

i  on  .  light  do  worse." 

I  might  do  better." 

The     f  ™ 

Miss  cTmioil'^^J"^^;  -  «-at  progress  with 
her  mother.    She  sent  him  ZT^-  T    "^"e^^t  from 
tion  filled  at  the  druTstore  and  ""^  *,*"  ^'  *  P^^^^P- 
for  the  medicine  ^hThet'l^'^l'^^^^P^y 
^thout  letting  "M^e-t,         ^'  ^"  *°»W-f 
tained  that  privilege, E,,^";^-    «-««  Wing  ob- 
from  this  b^ni^he  iSal^r™'^^''*  °»«J  and 
"lent  of  some  of  the  otheTr     u  ^  ""^  '""^  «•«  Pay- 
^-  Connors  preJn;""^    ertd**  "^"^'  •''-^^* 
slipped  a  part  of  his  r,JJ      ^v    '"^'^'  """l  feally 
-hen  she  was  biddin/S^"^  "."^^  ^*<'  ^«'  band  - 
"  fer  the  doctor's  bS?  ^  ^^''^  "«^'  ^  the  hall  - 


38S 


LAKKIN 


"God  bless  yeh,  boy,"  she  whispered  tearfully. 
"Don't  mind  Maggie  now.  It's  the  way  with  the 
girls.  She  '11  marry  yeh  when  the  time  comes.  Don't 
doubt  it." 

He  fled  down  the  stairs  in  such  haste  that  he  almost 
fell  on  the  landing,  but  when  he  reached  the  sidewalk 
he  stopped  to  turn  up  the  collar  of  his  overcoat  and 
solemnly  shook  his  head  before  he  went  on  again. 

Though  he  came  every  night  —  and  even  accepted  an 
mvitation  to  supper  Sunday  evening  — he  never  had 
much  to  say  for  himself.  Mrs.  Connors  received  him 
at  the  door,  maternally,  and  made  herself  busy  about 
him,  and  followed  him  down  the  hall  to  the  kitchen. 
Her  daughter,  propped  up  among  the  pillows  in  an  arm- 
chair by  the  stove,  greeted  him  with  a  flippant  "  Hello, 
Mikel"  although  she  knew  his  name  was  Tom.  He 
would  grin  and  reply,  respectfully:  "How 're  vuh 
feelin'  ? " 

"  Oh,  great !  "  she  would  say  sarcastically.  «  Don't 
I  look  it?" 

She  was,  in  fact,  pathetically  thin  and  faded. 

"  That 's  right,"  he  would  insist  "  I  guess  we  '11 
have 't  warm  pretty  soon  now." 

He  would  sit  down  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room 
and  smile  and  listen  and  watch  her.  She  had  given  up 
teasing  him  about  coming;  she  accepted  him  as  one  of 
the  family  and  chatted  with  her  mother  about  their 
neighbors  and  their  household  affairs  without  making 
any  change  of  topic  when  he  came  in. 
When  she  was  too  weak  to  leave  her  room  she  caUed 


LARKIIf  389 

out-Hello  Mikel»ashepa,8edherdoor.    And  when 
he  was  at  la^t  steadily  confined  to  her  bed,  she  had  t^^ 

the  flat,  and  she  received  him  there  with  a  smile  even 
when  her  voice  was  too  faint  to  raise  her  greeting  aZ 
a  wbsper.     She  had  apparently  accepted'^hei^^sttd; 

as  ,f  they  all  beheved  that  the  impossible  could  bfppea 
and  were  resolved  not  to  wony  meanwhile.  ^^ 

He  had  been  given  her  keys  to  the  flat,  so  that  he 
rn.ght  not  disturb  her  by  ringing  the  bell    f  she  we^e 

ktehed  and  the  room  filled  with  women,  talking  in  sul. 
dued  ton^.    None  of  them  knew  him  and  theyTll  sta^ 

room.     Through  the  hanging  he  saw  a  priest. 

toSLti  .''T  T""'  *'P*^  ^""^"^  downstairs 
to  the  street,  and  stood  on  the  froni  steps  until  a  police- 
man who  was  watching  him,  came  up  to  speak  to  hS^ 
He  wandered  off  aimlessly  without  answering 

door-jamb  and  turned  home,  and  as  he  went  slowly 
around  the  comer,  in  the  silence  of  the  Sunday  ZZ 
•ng,  «!  undertaker's  wagon  came  drumming  hollowly 
over  the  paving-stones.  ""owiy 


"Ah. 


don't  lea'  me,  lad,"  Mrs.  Com.ors  ple'aded. 


880 


LAKKm 


teU  m  I'd  V  married  him,' 8he  said." 
Larkin  shook  his  head.    He  knew  better 
However  he  did  not  go  back  to  his  boarding-house. 
He^it  in  h.s  0  d  place  in  the  kitchen  until  she  made  Tp 
a  bed  for  km  m  the  room  that  was  .ow  to  spare.    IS 
when  Mrs.  Connors  had  gone  pla.ntivel/to  bed    he 

It**  'tf""^'  *""^  ''■^  ^^^  "f  the'^ndow 'that 
open^on  the  fir^scape,  and  took  up  the  oil  lamplhS 

she  used  to  save  gas  in  the  kitchen. 

He  stood  a  long  time  gazing  at  the  light  in  his  hand 

hall  to  lie  door  of  the  room  and  stood  there,  hangi^  his 
head.     He  blew  out  tie  light.     In  the  darknW^  he 

"Maggie?" 


THE   END 


son,  Tom, 
ij  good-by 
ay.    '  An' 


ing-house. 
5  made  up 
ire.  And 
J  bed,  he 
idow  that 
tnp  which 


his  hand, 
It  up  the 
aging  his 
mess,  he 
y,  apolo- 


